The Promised Land
by LisaRom122
Summary: Cuddy needs House's help. Story plays 8 years after the series ended. Canon. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Part I

**Chapter 1**

He is still in bed and the phone is ringing. He has been having a bad morning and is not planning on picking it up. His leg has been hurting more than usual, lately.

This is the third time it is ringing, though. Must be someone annoying. He pushes his pillow down harder on his ear. He actually knows it is Foreman; he is probably ringing because a new super rich patient has a cough and pays for special treatment. He knows it is Foreman because with Cuddy and Wilson gone, nobody calls him at this time of day. In fact, nobody calls him, ever. He has no team and no relationships. Apart from his patients and hookers, he touches no one and is not being touched.

The phone rings for the fourth time, and he slowly starts to get up. He tries to ignore the pain that shoots up his spine and shuts off his brain briefly as he puts weight on his leg. Gripping his cane tightly, he slowly shuffles to his couch where he collapses again, and picks up the receiver.

"Yeah?" he mumbles breathlessly.

"House." It's Foreman. "Glad my skills as an alarm haven't ceased completely, yet." He pauses, giving House time for a retort. When nothing comes from the other end, he cuts to the point. "House… Cuddy's here."

Wow. That is a line he has not heard in nine years, and did not expect to hear for the remainder of his life.

"She's here with her _husband_," Foreman elaborates, carefully pronouncing that last word, as if he were trying to tiptoe around it. "He had been diagnosed with squamous cell oropharyngeal carcinoma nine months ago. HPV negative. Chemo went well, last CT scan showed no residual cancer cells. Now there are complications. Trouble swallowing, oral pain… Cuddy had actually hoped for Wilson and you both." Foreman pauses at that, and it is obvious he was not especially chipper about having had to deliver the news of Wilson's death to her. "How come she didn't know?"

"Cancer probably metastasized," House replies dryly, not wanting to engage in any of this.

"No presence of cancer cells."

"Doesn't mean—"

Foreman cuts him off. "House, if it were something obvious, I doubt she'd be here and ask for your help. She says she's been to dozens of doctors who can't figure out what's wrong with him."

Silence.

"Look, House, it's your call. I told her that as well. Should I admit him or not?"

He takes a long pause, rubbing his leg. At last he sighs, looking up at the ceiling. "Admit him. But I don't want her there. Tell her to leave me his records without any of her notes or comments. I want an unbiased view. Her visiting hours are until 11am, after that she has to keep at least a hundred yards between her and the hospital." Then he hangs up and heads for his tub.

_I know the idea is not very original - one of House's ex-girlfriends needs medical advice for her husband - but hang in there. It'll be a long and intense ride ;-)_

_I want to give kudos to the journal article I based this on: _Ferrari et al. Cancers of the Head & Neck (2016) 1:16 DOI 10.1186/s41199-016-0018-5 _(Don't check it out yet *spoiler alert*)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

House actually goes to see his patients in their hospital rooms nowadays. After his return from the dead and his second time in prison, Foreman offered him a job as an intern. House does not have his license anymore, so he has no say and no jurisdiction over any patient. He works as a consult on difficult cases, with Foreman making all final decisions. Sometimes Foreman makes the wrong call and the patient dies, but it is not in House's power any longer.

House had to give his word to Foreman that he would stop cheating and manipulating. If there was a dispute between him and the treating doctor, he would bring it to Foreman, and he had to oblige Foreman's ruling. House accepted the terms. He keeps a low profile, at least most of the time, his head slightly bowed in a seemingly permanent state. He remains quiet around other doctors even when they are being idiots, and mainly talks to the patients and to Foreman.

In the beginning of his new life he detested every hour of it, especially every hour of his work. Now it is more the other way around. At some point he realized that he actually did learn more from patients when he spent time with them. _Everybody lies_ is still true, at least initially, but most patients feel a sort of relieve when they begin to entrust themselves to someone—someone who might help them overcome their misery.

When House stands in front of the door to her husband's hospital room, a part of him hopes that she defied his wishes and he will find her sitting in a chair next to her husband, but the room is empty except for the man lying in bed.

"Hi," the man says, eying him curiously. "You must be Dr. House."

"Just House these days. You are Michael," he states, approaching the bed.

"Thank you for agreeing to treat me. I've heard a lot about you." He is genuinely nice. Of course. _A decent man _is the perfect description. He seems like a guy with a limitless reserve of calm and patience, no matter how hard you poke him with a stick. House likes and hates him instantly: He is perfect for Cuddy. Someone he would have wished for her if he were a decent guy who only wanted her best.

House nods at his remark. "I've looked at your file."

"More like a historical novel, huh?"

And funny. Of course. House nods again, showing no sign of amusement. "I prefer talking to patients as well. Most of the time they lie, but they also hold relevant information without even knowing it."

Michael nods. He knows this, of course. Cuddy certainly briefed her husband thoroughly before she left him at 10.55am this morning. _Don't let him trick you into revealing private information about us. _House had watched her from his car, parked at a coffee shop across from the hospital._ He will provoke you, just focus on your breath and take your time answering him. _Almost nine years since the last time he saw her. He was having trouble breathing as he watched her cross the parking lot and get into her car._ Think three steps ahead._

"What do you consider your first symptom?" asks House, returning to the present.

"The headaches, I think. It's hard to differentiate between what was connected to the cancer and what wasn't—I've had headaches before. Not sure they were even related."

House puts on a pair of gloves and starts to examine Michael's throat. "You've been a smoker," he states.

"Yes, for ten years. Through most of high school and college. Quit when I met my first wife. Started again after the divorce. Only for half a year, though. I changed when I met Lisa."

"People don't change for other people. They pretend to change." House continues on to check Michael's lymph nodes. "You had a relapse after your treatment, maybe? To celebrate life a little?"

"No way, I knew about the consequences!" Michael sounds indignant, pulling back from House.

"Knew about the consequences of smoking when you were in high school as well. Didn't stop you then." House gestures for Michael to lean forward so he can examine the back of Michael's neck.

"So what? The cancer scared the shit out of me, okay? Like you never did anything that might compromise your health."

"Look, I'm not being judgmental," House stops his examination and faces him again. "I'm just saying maybe there was something you kept from your wife because you knew she'd kick your ass for it. I won't do that—can't, actually," he says, gesturing at his leg, "so you might as well tell me. Could be relevant."

"Well, I didn't, okay?" Michael looks at him hard.

"All right," House lets off. "But since we're already like, you know, bffs here, what about secret liaisons?"

"Hah," Michael grins. "Lisa told me you would ask that."

"And…?" House gestures with a spatula so that Michael opens his mouth.

"No," he says decisively, letting House inspect his oral cavity. House finds it awkward to be staring at a tongue that pays frequent visits to Cuddy's mouth. He pushes the thought aside. There are some white patches on the back of Michael's throat.

"We'll take another biopsy from your throat." House takes off his gloves. "I'll also schedule you for an endoscopy."

"Look, the pain is actually getting better and I think that Lisa might be overreacting a little. She's still scared from my last hospitalization. The doctors didn't find any more cancerous cells, my CT was clean... Maybe whatever it was went away."

House looks at him doubtfully. "You mean like a cold?" He is about to mock and lecture Michael on magically disappearing diseases, but stops himself. "Well, since you came all the way out here…" House had seen the address on the files: New Haven, Connecticut. "We're just going to rule some more things out. Make sure nothing got overlooked."

Michael nods, his face falling a bit.

"Why didn't you ask about Lisa?" Michael asks.

House raises his eyebrows at him.

"Whether she was having an affair," Michael elaborates.

"If she was, she has tested you for STDs already. You wouldn't even know." Michael nods as House turns to leave.

"Dr. House?" Michael stops him.

"Just House."

"That visiting ban, does it apply to our daughter as well?"

Rachel. Oh God. House feels panicky for a second and hesitates; he swallows hard, his mouth dry. He cannot bring it over himself. "No," he says, and walks out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The endoscopy revealed oral mycosis with fungal colonization, but no cancer cells, so they treat Michael with analgesic and antifungal drugs. To be safe, they MRI his head again and do a PET-CT scan.

"Did any further symptoms come up?" asks House as he checks on him. Michael seems to be responding well to the treatment.

"I feel like I might be coming down with a cold. My throat is still sore. My left ear hurt last night."

"We'll test for influenza viruses and give you antibiotics as a precaution. To rule out _a cold_," House uses air quotes on this last part. "Could be symptoms of an underlying disease."

"Which one?" Michael sounds anxious.

"Many suspects." House enjoys leaving Michael in the dark. It is a slightly perverted joy, he knows, but there really is no point in discussing his theories with patients. Plus, Michael will pass any information on to Cuddy, anyways, and House refuses to play the telephone game with her.

Michael is about to argue when they hear a cautious knock on the door, which is then slowly opened. A young girl of about twelve years with blue eyes and dark hair appears behind it. Rachel. House had both hoped and feared for this to happen.

"Hey honey," smiles Michael.

"Hey Dad," she says, smiling back at him. Then she shyly looks at House. "Hi House."

House bows his head, mumbling a _Hi_.

She walks towards him and gives him a tentative hug. House is taken aback by the gesture. Had Cuddy not told her what he had done all those years ago?

"Thanks for helping my dad," she mumbles and walks over to Michael, climbing onto his hospital bed.

"We'll see about that," he says matter-of-factly, which brings concern to both Rachel's and Michael's face. "We're trying," he adds, hoping to sound more reassuring.

"Mom says you figured it out. That he is getting better." She obviously doubts what she is being told by her parents, and his remark had only fueled her suspicions.

"He is," House tries again, which puts her at ease a little.

He wants to get out of the room. He never wanted to be part of the family tragedy. He also has trouble coping with the similarities between Rachel and Cuddy. Although genetically unrelated, Rachel looks a lot like her: She talks like her; moves like her.

"Mom says she was here with John this morning," Rachel says, looking at her dad. John must be her smaller brother, House concludes. He had read in Michael's files that he had two adopted children, a boy and a girl.

"Yes, I was so happy to see him. He drew me this picture, see?" Michael fishes a little kid's drawing from his bedside table and shows it to Rachel.

Rachel laughs. "Is this supposed to be me?" she says, pointing at the picture.

"I think he got you comparatively well, look at Mom," laughs Michael, making Rachel giggle.

House feels as if he is intruding. As always, he is on the outside looking in. He watches couples and families, functioning both as an audience and a supporting role in their drama. Yet, he is always only a part of their misery, their disease. He is never a part of their joy in life.

He cannot stand the way Rachel holds onto Michael's hand. It reminds him that Rachel had been in his own hospital room once, a long time ago. When he was recovering from cutting into his leg. Another tragedy he had not wanted to be a part of. "Any trouble breathing?" he asks Michael, trying to finish his check-up quickly.

"My chest feels a little tight", he states, so House walks over and puts on his stethoscope.

"Nothing abnormal," House states after listening to his heart and lungs, which is a lie, though. House hears a small rasping sound, but refuses to upset anyone. He will order an X-ray and have someone else do it.

"Can I hear?" Rachel smiles at House, sounding relieved and curious. House nods courtly and hands her the stethoscope.

"You hear his heartbeat?" he asks as he places the metal over Michael's ribcage.

Rachel nods. "There are two different sounds, though."

"That's right. The louder beat is from—" At that moment, Michaels starts coughing.

"Dad, are you ok?" Rachel asks.

"Fine, honey," he presses out, trying to catch his breath, his hand in front of his mouth. "Just give me a sec." He keeps on coughing, though. House takes the stethoscope to listen more closely. "My chest hurts," Michael says as the cough lets down and he catches his breath. When he looks at the hand that was covering his mouth, there is blood on it.

"Dad! What's happening?" Rachel is frantic now.

"Could just be from the endoscopy," House calms her down. He gives Michael some water and checks out his oral cavity again, trying to locate the bleeding. "We'll also take an X-ray of your chest. I'll get one of your doctors in here. Be right back." He limps out as quickly as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The pain in Michael's chest increased drastically within a half hour after the coughing, and the X-ray showed a spontaneous collection of pus and air in Michael's pleural cavity. They put him on broad-spectrum antibiotics and have to repeatedly drain the fluid from his lungs.

A few days later, the drainage starts to turn dark, and they cannot pinpoint exactly where the dark fluid is coming from.

Cuddy demands to talk to House. He refuses, though, because he knows that meeting her will cloud his judgment.

"House, she just wants some reassurance," Foreman tries again. He stopped by House's office on his way back from Michael's hospital room. It is 11.30am and House is waiting for a heads up from the janitor about Cuddy's exit. House had slipped him twenty bucks.

"I can't give her any." House sits in his chair, throwing his big tennis ball against the wall.

"She wants to discuss possible options together. She wants to help."

"I know that," House says with his voice raised. He hurls the ball at the trashcan and knocks it over with a loud thud. "How do you think this is gonna go? Hysterical family members are never any help. Ever. She is not objective because there are some diagnoses she doesn't _want_ to consider. Wishful thinking doesn't stop a disease from existing, though." He is practically yelling now.

"Well, she says she is not leaving his side." Foreman is obviously at a loss. He understands them both.

"Well, then I'm the one leaving," he says, getting up. "Call me when he's getting worse."

Foreman sighs. He knows there is no point in trying any further. How can two people be so stubborn?

"Oh, and check for a fistula in his pleural cavity," House adds as he exits his office. "The dark fluid's probably reflux from his stomach that entered his upper airways through the esophagus."

A few hours later, Foreman calls him at home. They found the fistula House prophesized and treated it with an insertion of a silicone stent.

House is relieved, hoping that this was it and that they will be out of his life again fast. A fistula would explain all of Michael's symptoms.

He stays at home for the next few days, waiting for Michael to be released from the hospital. House had been fine with his life before all this, and he wants to go back to it as soon as possible. The chance to see her and to perhaps find some form of resolution scares him so much that he shuts it out completely. There was just no way. He has practiced his ability to renounce all hope so effectively it is the only thing he knows to do now.

When Foreman calls him on the third day, House thinks it is to tell him that the air has cleared.

"House, Michael lost consciousness this morning. His blood pressure dropped suddenly. He's anemic."

Damn. "Did you locate any internal bleeding?" House asks.

"A minor bleeding from the tracheotomy, but I'm not sure that was all. The ECHO also showed signs of sinus tachycardia." Foreman sounds puzzled.

"Something's wrong with his heart?" House is stumped. "Did you do an ECG?"

"We don't know what it is, House!" Now Foreman is the one yelling. "Look," he presses, "I know it's hard for you, but you agreed to take this case. You better get your ass down here ASAP." Then he hangs up.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The minute he is back at the hospital, Cuddy storms into his office. "You want to do a heart biopsy on someone who is already suffering from internal bleeding?"

Although House knew this would happen, he is breathless and unable to speak for a few seconds. He had fantasized about this moment so many times. How he would react if he accidentally ran into her at a supermarket, a gas station, a liquor store… In most of those daydreams he would be nonchalant, crack a joke. In his dreams she was always back at the hospital, his boss again, like old times. Times before he ran his car into her home; before Wilson's death; before he went to hell.

He eyes her for a beat. She has aged, of course, and she looks tired and weary from too much worry, but she still has the same effect on him. He feels his pulse speed up in his temples and lowers his eyes to the floor, unable to look at her. "ECG was inconclusive," he states, trying to stick to the facts: He needs something solid, something he can hold onto. "Gotta rule out amyloidosis and test for cardiomyopathy." He is absentmindedly clenching and unclenching his right hand.

"At the risk of more bleeding, blood clots, or an infection!" She is obviously upset. "We have hardly any indication his heart is the problem. Sinus tach could just be due to his anemia or the stress from his surgery."

"Could be. Could also be cardiomyopathy due to his previous cancer treatment. Could be cancer," he adds this last idea rather cautiously.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cuddy's face fall. "You think that's what it is, don't you?" She knows him well.

He keeps his head down, rubbing his leg.

"But we tested for cancer. Several times—"

"We tested for cancer markers," he interrupts her. "You know they're not one hundred percent conclusive. Especially if the cancer is still small."

"Then do an MRI first," she says, defeated but still willing to fight him. "Less risky."

"Less conclusive." He looks at her. She knows he is right, so he backs down. "Do what you want, it's your call, anyway."

She swallows, wavering. "Will you do it?" she asks. He is not sure what she means and just raises his eyebrows at her. "The biopsy."

"No," he says decisively, shaking his head. Definitely not. She knows he has no license. Moreover, why would she entrust him with this? He does not even trust himself not to accidentally knick a vein or an artery. One obvious reason is that he has had no practice in years. The others reasons are less accessible to him and originate from far darker springs.

Her face falls again, though this time she tries to hide it. He catches the slight tensing of her jaw, though.

"I can be there during the procedure," he offers. "If you want."

She nods curtly. "I'll let Foreman know," she says as she turns to leave. When she has already reached for the door handle she thinks of something and turns back around. "House… I'm sorry. About Wilson."

He does not want her sympathy, so he just bows his head, his eyes cast to the floor. Seconds later, he hears her stepping out into the hallway.

She should not feel sorry for him. How could she? He had not even come close to offering an apology for what he had done to her. Her no-show at Wilson's funeral had not surprised him, since she obviously wanted to avoid running into him there. He had been sure that someone had informed her about Wilson's death, though. He thought that she had stayed in touch at least with some colleagues from PPTH, who surely would have given her a call. The fact that she had not known could only mean that she had broken off ties with everyone completely.

He wonders if it was all because of him. To eliminate every connection that would link him to her. Did she hate him that much? Or was it simply to start a new life without any reminder of her past? To forget and move on?


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The heart biopsy reveals cancer. They find cancer cells in the heart and on the skin surrounding the heart, most likely metastases from Michael's oropharyngeal squamous cell carcinoma. The spreading to the heart is very unusual, but has been reported twice before. Although they detected it at a stage where it had not even been visible in the CT scan, it is basically a death sentence for Michael. There is no cure for secondary heart cancer, and it is only a matter of time before the cancer spreads to other parts, if it has not already. House gives him five or six months.

Foreman is the first person House informs after the test results get back. House takes Foreman along to inform Michael and Cuddy of the diagnosis. Upon seeing them both enter the room, Cuddy already knows it cannot be good news. She slowly rises from the chair, holding onto Michael's hand. "What is it?" Her face is filled with panic as she tries to prepare herself for the impact.

For a moment, House cannot say the words. His mouth is dry.

"Tell me!" she demands, exasperate now. She can see it in his face, and tears start forming in her eyes.

"Epi- and myocardial cancer," he manages to press out. "Metastasized from his earlier carcinoma. I'm sorry."

She starts to fall apart at that, gasping for breath, her hands covering her face. House cannot stand to watch, so he turns to leave. This is why he brought Foreman along: So she can lean on his strong shoulder.

At that moment the door opens and Rachel steps in, carrying a salad in a plastic container and something that has the shape of a sandwich wrapped in paper. She briefly looks at everyone in the room, trying to deduct what is happening. "What's wrong?" she asks House who has stopped in his tracks and is standing right in front of her.

He looks down at the floor. It really is not his place to tell her. He waits a beat, but nobody jumps in. "We have a diagnosis for what's wrong with your dad. Unfortunately, it is not very good."

"How bad?" she asks. He hears Cuddy draw in an exasperated breath behind him. She is obviously too overwhelmed with the situation.

He has never advocated the idea of lying to children in order to shield them from unavoidable realities. They have to face the consequences at some point, anyways. "He has cancer in his heart. It's inoperable, and it will spread from there to other parts of his body. He has maybe half a year left to live."

She swallows, her expression hardening.

"I'm sorry, Rache. I wish there was something we could do."

She nods slightly and then walks over to the bed.

House hangs his head and finally exits the room. He realizes now that he had genuinely wanted to help Cuddy. He had wanted to help Cuddy and Rachel both. All the while, he had not been completely sure about his motives, but their pain hits him hard.

He goes to his car and feels the strong urge for all the drugs that ever made him feel good. He had promised Wilson not to take any, though, so instead of going to a bar, he goes to Wilson's grave. A fresh bouquet of lilies is lying by Wilson's headstone, which is quite unusual for this time of the year. Around Wilson's birthday, Christmas or the day of his death, someone will have put down flowers or lit a candle.

'Maybe Cuddy came by', he thinks.

He ponders what it must have been like for her to hear about her friend's death that had occurred six years ago. He finds no answers, so he asks Wilson for some insights. Did she tell him, standing here by his grave?

House informs Wilson about her husband's diagnosis, and goes on ranting about how much he hates life in general. About how much he hates his life in particular. About how much he hates Wilson for asking him for the two promises he has such a difficult time tying to keep: no drugs; no suicide. He ends up in tears, and he feels pathetic. He does not even believe in an afterlife, and now he is sitting here at a dark grave, basically talking to himself.

He did want her to be happy. He had not been able to make her happy when she was with him, so she must be happy without him now. He had pictured her happy in all his fantasies about her—fantasies he had allowed himself only once in a while over the last years. And obviously, he was right. She had been happy.

Until now.

And as before, there is nothing he can do to prevent her from misery.

_Author notes:_

_So, this is the end to the first part of the story. It is actually only the prelude to the main part. And, of course, Michael dies. Sorry if anyone was hoping for a different outcome._

_I am already ahead in the story, and actually prefer the next part. This one was a bit difficult with all the medical stuff. Sorry if that was too much. I wanted to try and recreate one of their typical banters from the show, where Cuddy thinks House's idea of treatment is insane. Btw, no guarantee that what I wrote was completely medically accurate._

_Anyways, thanks for the encouragement so far. I hope you enjoy the second part._


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry if I made everyone sad with the last chapter. It does get better, though. But not by much – it is still drama, mostly. Hope you enjoy. _

Part II

**Chapter 7**

After the diagnosis, they transferred Michael to a hospital in New Haven so that Cuddy, Rachel and John could go home. House does not hear anything else from them and goes back to his every day miserable life.

Seven months pass by until his phone rings on a cold Friday night in January. He is at home on his couch, watching TV.

"Hello?" he asks into the receiver.

"Hi, is this House?" asks a girl's voice on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, you got me. And who are you?"

The girl pauses, seemingly uncertain. "This is Rachel. Rachel Cuddy."

"Rachel," he says, surprised and anxious about the reasons for Rachel's unexpected call. His palms are getting sweaty and he feels his heartbeat in his eardrum against the receiver. "Is everything all right?"

"I called the clinic. Dr. Foreman gave me your number. I hope that's all right?"

"Of course. What's going on, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Um, actually mom's not doing too well, I think." Her voice is low, as if she was afraid someone was going to overhear her. "She doesn't know I'm calling."

"What's wrong, is she sick?" asks House.

"No, not like a cold or anything, but… She is tired and sad all the time. She went back to work a few weeks ago, but it's too much, I think. When she comes home at night she just goes to bed. We don't have dinner anymore. I never see her eat. At the weekends she also just sleeps and sleeps."

"And she's in bed now?" House asks, looking at his watch. It's 7.30pm.

"Yes."

"Do you know if she is taking any meds?"

"There are some of those brown pill bottles on her night stand, but I don't know what they are all for. Some are for sleeping. But they make her so tired she gets up way after her alarm so that she doesn't even have the time to shower. Sometimes I have to go in and wake her because she is so tired. We got late to school twice this week."

"You and your brother?"

"No, mom drives me. John is at aunt Julia's. Mom took him there when things got worse with dad. He has been going to a school in Princeton this whole school year. I don't know when he is coming back. Mom says it's better for everyone at the moment." Rachel sounds like she is crying now.

"Where is your grandma, Rachel?" asks House.

"She died," she says, sniffing her nose. "Two years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Rache," says House. "I'm sorry about your dad, too," he adds, feeling uncomfortable.

"I don't know what to do anymore. I do the laundry and the dishes; I pack my own lunch; I try to cook dinner for us, but there is hardly anything left in the house. We're out of milk, so I can't eat any cereal…" All her sorrow is spilling out of her now. "I know you tried to help my dad, so I thought maybe you can help my mom?"

House hesitates, running his hand through his hair. "I'm not sure she wants my help, Rache. Is there nobody else you could call? Close friends, a neighbor, colleagues?"

On the other end, Rachel is blowing her nose. "There were people who stopped by a lot at first, and there are people who call often. But mom just tells them she is fine and very busy. I think she doesn't want anyone to know. She'll be mad at me for calling you."

House rubs his leg. "Asking for help is never a bad thing. Actually, it takes a lot of courage, and I think you are really brave." House is stalling for time, trying to consider all options. "Why doesn't your mom just step back from work a bit, take some more time to recover?"

"She can't. She says we need the money. The insurance people didn't cover all of dad's medical bills, and there were a lot. We even had to fire Estelle." Rachel is crying again.

"Estelle?" House asks.

"Our housekeeper," she explains. "She used to babysit John and me sometimes."

Damn. Did he really have a choice here? He could take some time off. He has not taken any vacation in five years. Forman would probably accept the short notice. On the other hand, Cuddy will probably throw him out of the house straight away.

"All right," he says finally. He might as well give it a try. Worst case scenario: He will drive up there three hours and drive back another three. Not his favorite way to spend a Friday night, but it is not like he has any joyful things to do. "I'll see what I can do."

Rachel sounds relieved. "Really?"

"Yeah. I can be up there in about three hours, depending on the weather and traffic. Do you have something to write so I can give you my cell phone number?"

"Yes."

"Okay. It's 555-638-4816. Text me your address there. You have a cell phone, right?"

"I'm twelve," she says. Of course she does.

"You have a key lying around somewhere so I can get in?" he asks.

"Yes, under a ceramic hedgehog on the back porch."

"All right. Don't wait up for me if you're tired." He is about to hang up. On an afterthought he adds: "You did the right thing, Rache. It's going to be fine, okay?"

"I hope so," she says weakly.

Then he puts down the receiver.


	8. Chapter 8

_This was one of my favorite chapters to __write! _

_Thanks again to Marmite2405 for feedback and input! And for everyone encouraging me in the comments. _

**Chapter 8**

The house is dark when he gets there. He finds the key on the back porch where Rachel told him it would be, gets his bag from his car and lets himself in. Worried he might scare someone, he turns on the first light he finds and carefully calls out: "Hello?"

Nothing.

He takes off his shoes and jacket, and puts his bag next to the sofa. Listening to the sounds of the house, he tries to orient himself and make out the other rooms. The one he stands in is open planned; a living room, dining room and kitchen all in one. A large space to run and jump. The kitchen lies on the opposite side of the entrance, with a cooking island and bar stools around it. A large dining table made of dark hardwood holding at least twelve people somewhat separates the living room from the kitchen, but there is still enough space to take a jog or to roll out a miniature golf course. Over the fireplace, there are pictures of Cuddy and Michael on vacation, family pictures of the four of them in grotesque Christmas sweaters, beaming at the camera, and school portraits of the kids in large wooden frames. House tries not to look at them too closely. They are, or rather were, living the perfect American family life.

Next to the enormous sofa, on which at least three people can take a nap simultaneously, there is a door slightly ajar. As he steps closer he hears someone's even breath behind it, but he decides to continue his expedition first. Closer to the kitchen, a small hallway leads to three other doors that are also slightly open. The one on the left reveals white tiles as he pushes at the door. In the semi-darkness, he sees a connecting door from the bathroom to what he concludes is the main bedroom. The first door to the right has a board with Rachel's name and colorful chalk drawings on it.

He knocks very quietly and pushes the door open further. "Rachel?" he whispers. He steps in quietly and sees her lying on her bed, fast asleep. There is a pink night-light glowing on her nightstand, bringing a fairy-tail glow to her face. He watches her sleep and listens to her breath for a few seconds; then he backs out, careful not to make any noise.

He returns to the living room, uncertain of how to proceed. Pacing around the couch, he considers his options, and finally decides to enter Cuddy's room.

"Cuddy?" he asks quietly. A small lamp on her nightstand is on, allowing him to inspect the room. She is lying on the right side of the bed on her stomach, her head turned away from him. The left side of the bed is unmade, probably left untouched since the person who last slept in the sheets slept there for the last time. He notices the smell that comes with unclean bed linen, from occasional experience in his own bedroom. There is a sofa chair next to the bed, spilling over with worn clothes.

"Cuddy, it's me," he tries again. She moves slightly, mumbling something into her pillow.

There are several pill bottles on her nightstand, and he steps closer to inspect them. Sleeping pills, anti-depressants, anti-anxiety pills, and pills to stimulate circular flow in the morning. What a happy cocktail.

"Cuddy, wake up, I need to talk to you," he says more loudly now.

She rolls over onto her back and slowly opens her eyes, still groggy with sleep. "House," she blinks, his name sounding more like a weak statement. She does not look the least bit surprised.

"I _am_ actually here," he says, because she seems to think he is only in her head—that she is dreaming it all. "Did you take any of these tonight, yet?" He shakes the pill bottles he was holding. They make that high rattling sound he used to love and came to detest.

At that moment she realizes she is not fantasizing him, and struggles to sit up in bed, pulling the blankets around her protectively. "House, what the hell are you doing?" She sounds indignant, but there is hardly any force behind her words. She looks tired and way too skinny, with huge rings under her eyes and her cheeks hollow.

"I could be asking you the same thing," he says defiantly, shaking the pills again. "You're a doctor, you should know better than to eat these like they're candy. In the long run, they always do more harm than good."

"Oh, like you're the one to talk… You broke into my house to lecture me about drug abuse?" She has difficulty formulating words and they come out slowly. The fact that she just woke up to find him standing in her bedroom is too much for her to cope with.

"You're certainly not the best key keeper," he quips. "You had them lying around your last house as well. I came in through the front door."

She opens her mouth and takes a breath in but does not find any retort, still shocked at the situation.

"When was the last time you changed those sheets?" he asks, nodding towards her bed. "Or ate, for that matter," he adds reproachfully.

"House! What the hell are you doing here?" she finally manages to get out, her voice slightly raised.

"Rachel called me," he says, backing off a bit. "You're neglecting her. And yourself, obviously."

"She did not say that!" Cuddy looks at him, indignant.

"Those weren't her exact words, but she was definitely upset. Says you get her to school late, you don't make dinner…"

"So you thought you'd stop by and judge me?" she says incredulously.

"No. I came here to help," he says with slight apprehension in his voice, his eyes cast down to the ground.

"I don't need your help!" she exclaims. "I've just lost my _husband_, God damn it, so excuse me if the house isn't ready for an _Interior Design_ photo shoot and if I forgot to buy groceries this week," she says angrily. "Now get the hell out!"

"Well, if you don't see a problem here, you won't mind if I flush these down the toilet, do you?" he says as he takes the pill bottles and opens the drawers of her night table. "You have any more hidden away?" he asks, rummaging around.

"House, what the hell…? I need those to sleep," she claims, trying to take the pills from him. He steps back and walks into the bathroom. "House!" she gets up and stumbles in after him as he drops the contents of the bottles into the toilet. He opens more cabinets in the bathroom, looking for the rest of her stash.

"House, stop!" she exclaims.

"No Cuddy, you stop!" he says, angry now. He interrupts his hunt and turns towards her, about to reprimand her. Looking at her, though, he stops himself. He does not see much of her body because her clothes are long sleeved and baggy, probably pulled out from Michael's side of the closet. But he realizes that she can hardly keep herself up on her feet. She is shaking slightly and leans heavily against the doorframe for support. She looks pale and so damn fragile his anger evaporates in an instant.

He also notes that the hallway and Rachel's room are adjacent to the bathroom they are currently standing in. He does not want to wake up Rachel, so he walks back into Cuddy's bedroom and closes the door after she steps in behind him. She sits back down on the bed.

"Cuddy," he says more quietly now, concern ringing in his voice. "This isn't just a rough patch that will vanish with time. You're diving head first into a depression. People are understanding of your demeanor now because of your recent loss, but their patience will run out and the next thing you know you'll be out of a job," he reasons with her.

"I'm not screwing up at work," she tries to defend herself weakly.

"Maybe not yet, but you will if you keep going like this. You're already getting there late and un-showered."

She looks at him in surprise, shocked that Rachel would share this information with him. "Look, I appreciate you driving all the way here, on a Friday night no less, but I don't need your help. I do have friends and colleagues up here."

"Well, obviously they're a bunch of hypocrites," he says angrily. "What idiot watches a friend starve herself?"

She takes this in for a second, her eyes cast down. Then she swallows hard and looks straight at him. "I guess I prefer hypocrites and idiots over friends who drive their car into my dining room." Her voice is cold and piercing. "You are the last person I want here."

Now it is his turn to avert his eyes. He has no retort to this, and is close to giving up. He was here; he tried. He hardly did any good to the situation, but what was left for him to do now? Turn around and drive home, call Rachel in the morning and tell her he had been right in the first place, that Cuddy did not want his help.

"Tell me anyone, any colleague or friend, who we can call, right now, to come here and talk some sense into you," he says slowly and deliberately. "And I'll leave." He looks straight at her.

"House, it's almost midnight. And who are you to come here and make bargains? This is my house, and you leave when I tell you to."

She definitely has a point. He stands there undecidedly, leaning on his cane, debating his options. He knows he should go, but he shakes his head no. "I wont. I promised Rachel I would try to help. I can't let her down."

"Oh, and when did you start caring about my daughter so much? Was that before or after you crashed your car into our home?" she asks sarcastically.

"Don't you see that you are putting her through worse now?" he asks, walking closer to the bed. "She just lost her dad a few months ago, had to watch him die slowly from a disease that no one could stop, and now she has to watch her mother sink deeper and deeper into a depression. How the hell do you think this must be like for her, seeing you slowly die as well, though not through a disease but by your own volition?" He realizes he has been shouting those last words.

He is towering over her now, so she has to lean her head back in order to look at him. "House, I'm not suicidal," she states, still trying to argue with him, denying how bad things actually are.

Who the hell is she trying to convince? Herself? "For Christ's sake, have you looked in the mirror lately?" He pulls her up by the arm and shoves her in front of a large dressing mirror next to the bedroom closet.

"House!" she shouts out as she struggles against him, trying to free herself from his grip. He holds her tight, though, his arms wrapped around her as he stands behind her so she can see herself. She turns her head away, trying to avert her eyes from the mirror, so he grips her chin with one hand and forces her to look at herself.

Over her shoulder he sees in the reflection that she focuses her eyes down, refusing to confront herself. When he does not let go, she finally looks up, seeing herself after what seems to be the first time in weeks. She looks shocked for a moment, and then her face falls as if she was about to cry. But she seems to have neither the energy nor the tears left, so she just stands there shaking in his arms, her defences crumbling.

"Cuddy," he whispers, not knowing what to say. He is about to let go of her when he realizes that he has basically been holding her up all this time. He is afraid she might collapse when he lets go, so he picks her up instead and carries her over to the bed. It worries him that she does not even have the energy to protest against this. He is even more alarmed at how little she weighs in his arms.

He puts her down carefully and draws the blankets over her. "Try to get some sleep," he mumbles, his words soft now.

"I can't," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" he asks, sitting down next to her.

"I kept having nightmares. Really bad ones. I'd scream myself awake every two or three hours. Before I started taking the pills," she says in a small voice, her words coming out slowly.

He just nods, unsure of what to say. "What about the anti-anxiety meds?"

She closes her eyes briefly. "I was getting panic attacks. At first only when I was at home, mostly at night. When I started getting them at work, I got the prescription."

He nods again. "You need to learn how to sleep without them again."

"I'm scared to go to sleep," she confesses. "Because of the nightmares. And the attacks."

"I can stay here with you," he gestures towards the carpeted bedroom floor next to her bed. "Put up camp."

"How reassuring," she says sarcastically. "The guy who ran his car into my house is going to watch over my sleep."

He turns away from her slightly, staring at his hands in his lap. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says, rubbing his leg. "You know that," he adds, his eyes focusing on her again.

She returns his gaze, and for the first time that night, they are actually truly seeing each other. "I thought I did," she says vulnerably, her voice filled with hurt and disappointment. He catches a glimpse of the pain he caused her all this time ago, before he cannot stand it any more and pulls away from her gaze.

"Look," he says, talking quietly to his hands again. "I haven't taken any drugs in six years. I don't drink, I'm not angry. I understand that you are still mad, but I can assure you that I am not going to be a threat to you. Or your daughter."

She does not respond, so he concludes from her lack of objection that they have a deal.

"I'll make you some tea," he says getting up. "You need hydration." He slowly limps out of her bedroom.

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When he returns, he carries a cup of tea and has a few blankets, a sleeping bag, and a bottle of water tucked under his arm. Her eyes are closed, so he keeps quiet and rolls out the sleeping bag next to her bed, setting up for the night.

Back in the living room he changes into a T-shirt and pyjama pants, goes to the guest bathroom next to the entrance to pee, and returns to her bedroom.

Cuddy is sitting up a little, the cup of tea in her hand. She takes a sip and grimaces. "Ugh, what is that?"

"Tea with some honey," he says as he sits down on his makeshift bed.

"Tastes more like honey with some tea," she reproaches.

"You need the calories," is all he retorts as he lies down to get some shuteye himself. The long drive and the ebbing tension between them make him yawn. "Good night."

She just scoffs mildly and turns off the lamp on her nightstand.

Two hours later they are both still awake. House can tell by her breathing. He turns and sighs, looking up at the ceiling.

"I cannot sleep," she complains quietly.

"You will, eventually," he just says matter-of-factly.

"I need to sleep, House," she claims. "I brought home work that I need to get done over the weekend, and I can't sleep in because I have to drive Rachel to soccer practice in the morning."

"I can do that," he offers. "What time does she need to be there?"

"At nine. We usually leave the house at eight thirty."

"She knows the way?"

"Yeah, better than me, actually," she says quietly. "Michael used to driver her."

"All right." He picks up his cell phone and sets his alarm. "She gets up by herself or should I wake her?"

"House, she is twelve," she says. "Lately, she was the one who had to wake _me_ up," she adds guiltily.

They are quiet for a moment until House thinks of something. "You ever tried Progressive Muscle Relaxation?" he asks.

"Not genuinely."

"All right, let's do that. Lie on your back," he instructs. He hears the ruffling of her sheets as she settles down on her back. "Close your eyes. Focus your mind on your breath as you inhale and exhale slowly." His voice is low and even.

"I doubt this is going to work," she mutters.

He just continues, unfazed. "Now bring your focus to your feet; notice how they feel." He waits a beat. "Now contract the muscles on the soles of your feet by pushing your toes down toward the mattress, flexing the muscles tightly." He waits for five seconds. "Okay, release. Focus on the sensation in your feet. Feel the weight of gravity pressing your heels into the mattress." He makes another pause. "Now move your focus to your calves…"

He goes on like this until he gets up to her thighs and her breath finally evens out and she is asleep. He remains staring at the ceiling, struggling to let go of his own thoughts, until sleep finally catches him as well and he drifts off.

Two hours later, she is gasping for breath, a nightmare rattling her awake. "No no no no no," she pleads in her sleep, fighting restlessly against her bed sheets. House sits up and struggles to pull himself onto the mattress next to her.

"Hey, hey, hey," he tries to wake her, switching on the lamp on her nightstand. "Cuddy," he says, shaking her slightly. "Cuddy, it's me." She wakes up with a yelp, breathless and disoriented. "You're here in your bed, you're safe."

"Oh God," she sighs, trying to catch her breath, the horror and fear from her dream written on her face.

"Here, give me your hand," he says, offering his to her.

She pulls her left hand out from under the blankets and holds it out. He squeezes her hand briefly, then turns it to put her palm up and starts to draw something on it with his finger. "Here, focus on my finger. What am I writing?"

At first, she has a hard time paying attention, still taunted by her nightmare, so he repeats it and asks again: "What letter is this?"

"Are you drawing them upside down or your way?" she asks, still out of breath.

"How is that relevant with this one?" he retorts.

"An _H_?" she offers.

"Yes. I'm drawing them your way. What's this one?"

"An _E_," she replies, and already guesses what he was going to spell: "Hello."

"Okay, next word."

"A _C_. Cuddy. This is boring."

"All right. Next word."

"A _Y_. You."

"Hmm."

"_W_. _E_. _R_. Were?"

"Jup."

"An _S_. The next one better not be an _H_."

He chuckles.

"An _L_.", she says. "An _E_. Another _E_… Sleeping?"

"Yeah, you were sleeping." He pours some water into her empty tea cup, gesturing for her to drink. "That's good. Try again," he says as he lies back down on his sleeping bag, pulling the blankets over himself.

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They keep going like this for the rest of the night, him calming her down as she struggles awake from a nightmare, until his phone goes off and he gets up to get dressed and find breakfast for Rachel.

Cuddy is still asleep as they head out and he drives Rachel to soccer practice. He tells Rachel a little about how last night went and that she could stop worrying. He is at the store buying groceries when he gets a call from Cuddy. He had left a note with his number on the kitchen counter. "Where are you," she asks slightly panicky. "Is everything all right?"

'She definitely trusts me with her daughter', he thinks with irony. "I'm out shopping. Anything particular you feel like for lunch?" he retorts nonchalantly.

"No. Is Rachel okay?" she insists.

"She was, up until twenty minutes ago, when I dropped her off at practice. I don't know if anything serious happened since then, but I'm sure someone would have informed you. I'll be back in ten," he says and hangs up.

When he gets back to the house with a trunk full of groceries, he opens the door with the spare key. He finds her sitting at the desk in the bedroom, still wearing the clothes from last night. There are several files and sheets of paper spread all over the surface, her laptop hovering on top of it all.

"Hey," he says as he walks in. "I took the liberty to keep this for the time being." He gestures at the key. "Just so you know."

She eyes him through her black rimmed reading glasses. "How long exactly is _for the time being_?" she asks skeptically, taking a sip from a coffee mug.

"Foreman gave me three weeks off," he says, looking away. He hastily changes the subject, focusing his attention on her. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"You want to stay here for three weeks?" she asks with eyebrows raised.

He shrugs. "If you're better sooner, I'll leave sooner. Breakfast?" he insists.

She just looks away and focuses back on her work. He eases off on her for now and goes to the car to bring in the groceries. He sets them on the counter and starts putting them away. He cuts up some of the fruit he bought and goes back to her bedroom. He wordlessly puts down a plateful of fruit and a glass of water next to her coffee mug. She looks up briefly, but does not comment.

He keeps busy in the kitchen the remainder of the morning, cleaning dishes and preparing lunch. He has decided on making lasagna. When he goes back to check on Cuddy, she has hardly touched the fruit.

"Cuddy," he just says, pointing his gaze at the plate.

She sighs and stares at it as well, looking lost. "I just… don't feel like it," is all the explanation she offers.

He steps closer to the desk, realizing something. "Drinking is easier?" he asks, gesturing at the glass of water that is now almost empty.

She nods. He takes the plate and goes back into the kitchen to get out a mixer he spotted in one of the lower cabinets earlier. He puts all the cut up pieces of fruit inside the mixer, adds some honey and spinach leaves, and turns it on. He tries his made up green smoothie, making sure it does not taste like crap, before he pours it into a tall glass and carries it back to her. "Voilà," he says, a tad bit proud of his ingenuity as he sets it down.

She looks slightly touched and mumbles a small thank you before returning back to her work.

"I'm off to pick up Rachel," he says, poking his head in swiftly an hour later.

"You sure? I can go."

He looks at her attire, but decides not to make a remark. "I got it. You get your work done. Turn off the oven when the timer goes off?!"

She raises her eyebrows, but also keeps her thoughts to herself. "Okay, I will."

Then he takes off.

After he gets home with Rachel, they sit at the dining table, their plates full of steaming lasagna.

"This is yummy," exclaims Rachel happily, complementing the cook.

"Glad you like it," says House.

"It is really good," Cuddy agrees, not quite as convincingly. She has hardly touched her plate and mostly kept pushing the food around with her fork. She managed to change her clothes and brush her hair before House and Rachel returned, and she is definitely trying, but she is obviously struggling through this. Thus far, she has hardly said anything; she sits with her back bent, her head resting heavily in one hand.

"Mom," Rachel starts quietly, looking upset. "Are you mad at me?"

Cuddy looks surprised, raising her head from her hand. House puts his fork down, expectant. "No. Honey no, of course not. Why would I be mad?"

"Because I called House. Behind your back."

"Oh sweetie," Cuddy looks upset now. "If anything, _I_ should be the one apologizing. I know I haven't really been… a great mom, lately."

Rachel seems relieved. "It's okay," she offers. "I know it's because you miss dad."

At this, Cuddy tears up and she can hardly talk. "But you probably miss him, too," she whispers as tears start falling down her cheeks. "Come here, sweetie." She pushes back her chair so Rachel can sit down sideways on her lap, and she holds her daughter as she quietly cries.

After a while, in which House stopped eating and kept his eyes to his plate, Cuddy dries her eyes and pulls back a bit. "How was soccer, honey?" she asks, changing the subject.

"It was good," says Rachel, getting up to sit back on her chair. "Lindsay invited everyone over to her house at two. Can I go?"

"Of course. I can take you," says Cuddy, eating some more of the lasagna. House and Rachel also get back to their plates, easing up a little.

While Rachel is in her room getting ready, House puts the dishes in the dishwasher and starts cleaning up. When Cuddy tries to help, he stops her. "Go get some rest. I can take Rachel to her friends, too."

She gives him a look, but is too tired to argue.

The rest of the afternoon passes by uneventfully. After he drops Rachel off at her friends, he wakes up Cuddy from her nap. She gets back to work while he does some laundry, empties the dishwasher, and even irons some of her outfits for work. His leg finally forces him to take a rest himself, so he sits down in the armchair and closes his eyes, nodding off a little.

He puts the clothes from the washer in the dryer while Cuddy picks up Rachel. When he passes through the bedroom, he picks up the clothes strewed across the armchair and opens the window to let in some oxygen. On Cuddy's return, he calls her into the bedroom.

"I'm going to change your sheets," he states, looking at her expectantly.

She shakes her head. "No."

"Cuddy… I know what this is about, but it's irrational."

"I don't care."

"This is insane. The bed doesn't even smell like him anymore, it just smells."

"You're not touching the bed," she says stubbornly.

He shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling impatiently. "Wear his clothes, listen to his voice messages, plaster the walls with pictures of him, for all I care, but don't hold onto smelly sheets full of sweat, bacteria and dead skin cells."

She looks at the bed sadly. After a moment she takes in a deep breath, nods briefly and leaves the room. He changes the sheets and goes to the living room where they have dinner together: Smoothies for everyone.

Afterwards, Rachel watches some TV while House cleans up, folds the clothes from the dryer and distributes them among Rachel and Cuddy. When he gets to Cuddy's room with a basket on his hip, she is lying on the freshly made bed. Her back is turned to him, but she is obviously crying. He does not know how to deal with the situation, so he sets down the basket and goes to the living room to get Rachel.

"Rache, you're mom's crying. You think you can go in there and comfort her a little?"

She looks up at him. "How?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. What does your mom do when you're sad?"

Rachel thinks for a moment. "Hm, she hugs me and strokes my hair. She tells me that it's going to be okay."

"And does that help?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Sometimes. It's better than crying alone."

"Then you think you could go and do that?" he asks.

"What if I have to cry, too?"

How should he know? He sucks at this stuff. He hates comfort and never knew how to give it. He tries to think of what normal people do. "I guess that's okay. Just like its okay to laugh with someone."

So Rachel walks into Cuddy's bedroom and lies down next to her, combing through her hair with her hands, hugging her tightly. House watches briefly through the gap of the door before he turns away and sits down on the couch.

He must have dozed off because when he wakes up, Rachel is lying on the couch next to him, asleep. He hears Cuddy talking, so he gets up and limps into her bedroom. "Cuddy?" he asks, turning on the light.

She is still asleep, but obviously having another nightmare. He sits down and holds her hand, rubs her forearm, trying to calm her without actually waking her. It doesn't work, though, and when she starts to fight him, he tugs on her shoulder to rip her out of the dream. "Cuddy, it's me. You're here, safe in your bed. It's just a nightmare."

She gasps awake. "House."

"Yeah. I'm here," he reassures her, and waits until her breathing returns back to normal. "Go get ready for bed, it's late." He pulls her up, steadying her in case she looses her balance. "But don't brush your teeth yet. I'm gonna make you some milk 'n' honey."

"Where's Rachel?" she asks.

"Asleep on the couch. I'll get her to bed," he says as he walks out.

When she is ready, she comes into the kitchen as he pours the milk into a mug. "So I guess you can sleep in tomorrow. Or did you start going to church?"

"No, we can sleep in. I still have some work left, but it should be fine," she says, climbing onto one of the bar stools. "We usually skype with John and Julia's family on Sundays."

He puts the mug down in front of her, stirring the liquid with a spoon.

"I don't think we should tell anyone you're here, yet. I'm not up to facing Julia." She sips on the warm milk. "She will declare me insane and have me admitted to a psychiatric hospital."

House just looks down and nods. It is up to her if she wants to lie to her family. "You think Rachel can keep this to herself long enough?"

Cuddy shrugs. "I'll talk to her tomorrow. See what she thinks."

He nods again and leaves to get ready for bed himself.

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The night turns out to be somewhat more relaxed than the last one, although she still wakes up a lot and has trouble getting back to sleep.

The next morning, House gets up when he hears Rachel rummaging around in the kitchen. He leaves Cuddy asleep and has breakfast with Rachel. Afterwards, he helps her with her math homework and they try to talk in Spanish a little—Rachel has been learning it at school for half a year now.

When Cuddy gets up, he makes her another smoothie. While she does some more work, he keeps the washer and dryer running, plays some Nintendo Wii with Rachel, and reheats the leftover lasagna in the oven.

At lunch, Cuddy brings up the topic of keeping House's visit a secret.

"But why," Rachel wants to know.

"Because..." Cuddy starts, searching for words. "I guess aunt Julia will be concerned and upset."

"Why?"

Cuddy seems uncertain of whether or not to elaborate. "Remember I told you we stopped seeing House because he ran his car into our house?"

Rachel nods. House just looks down at his plate.

"Well, aunt Julia and uncle Bill were there as well, when this happened, so… they don't think very highly of House," is all she adds.

"Why did you run your car into our house?" Rachel turns to House, genuinely curious.

House quickly glances at Cuddy, but now she is the one staring at her plate. She is not going to help him out here. He looks down, thinking. His voice is low and dry when he speaks. "I don't really have a reason. Actually, there was no _reasoning_ behind what I did. I don't have an excuse, either. I can only tell you what happened. From my point of view. If you want to hear it." He looks up briefly at Rachel. She nods.

"Um… You know about dating, right?" he asks. She nods again. "Well, your mom and I used to date. When you were little." He speaks slowly, carefully weighing his words, trying to be as neutral as possible. "But our relationship didn't work out, and I was very sad about that. But instead of dealing with that, I took drugs."

"What kinds of drugs?" she wants to know.

"Pain killers. Really strong ones. That dull the pain. Not only physically, in my leg, but also emotionally. I didn't want to feel any pain, so I took too many pills. To numb myself." He rubs his leg absentmindedly, his other hand brushing through his hair. "I drove to your mom's house to return her brush that day. It was a Friday night. That same day she told me that she didn't have a new boyfriend. When I got to the house, she was sitting at the dining table with your aunt and uncle and a guy I didn't know. I assumed that she had lied to me. I was jealous and angry, but I didn't feel any of that because of the pills, and then I…" He's at a loss for words.

"I actually don't know what happened. I don't remember thinking anything. I just lost it. I didn't think. Not when I was getting into the car. Not about what I was doing. Not about the consequences. For me or for anyone else."

He pauses at that and looks at Rachel. "You could have been in there. I didn't see you in your high chair at the table, and you were usually at your grandma's on Fridays, but I didn't know that for certain. I wouldn't even have seen you through the window because you were still so little. And your mom… I did see everyone get up and leave the room, but she could have returned to grab something from the dining room. I could have hurt your aunt and uncle, too. I understand that they are angry. They should be. And it's okay if you are angry at me about this as well."

Rachel stays silent, trying to digest all this. "I'll think about it," she says quite dryly, as if she were considering a math problem. "I'm pretty sure I can keep House out of the conversation when we skype today," she says to Cuddy. "Can I get up?"

Cuddy just nods, and Rachel goes to her room. Cuddy gets up as well and quickly heads for the guest bathroom by the front door. House hears her gag as she pukes up her lunch into the toilet. He is unsure about what to do, so he just picks up the plates and puts them away.

When Cuddy returns, she collapses onto the couch, having to lie down. "House, I cannot deal with this right now," she says weakly. "Can we postpone this conversation?"

He limps over into the living room, grabbing his jacket from the rack. "We don't have to have this conversation at all. I'll be out of your life again in no time. No need to wallow in the past." He grabs his keys.

"Where are you going?" Cuddy looks up at him in fear, panic ringing in her voice.

"Oh my God, would you knock it off?" he asks, getting angry. "I'm not going to run my car into your house again."

She closes her eyes briefly. "That's not what I meant," she says weakly.

He refuses to believe her. "Then what the hell did you mean?"

"I thought maybe you were leaving. You said you'd be out of here in no time." She looks at him calmly, her bright blue eyes shining but tired.

House deflates, his anger going from ten to zero. Why did she have this effect on him? He went so long without feeling anything. In the last two days, he had more emotions than in the last fives years put together. "I'll be in the car," he says. "Let me know when you're done skyping." Then he walks out.

That night they watch a movie together, with Cuddy and Rachel falling asleep on the couch. To House's relieve, neither of them brought the topic back up, and they went about the evening as usual. At dinner, Rachel shared some news about her brother, and they discussed the next day. House would get Rachel to school so Cuddy could take her time getting ready. "And to have a proper breakfast", House stressed.

House carries them both to bed and then lies down himself, staring at the ceiling for a while. He is just about to fall asleep when Cuddy says his name. This was new. She would usually just wake up yelping or gasping for breath.

"What is it?" he asks, struggling to get up.

"I can't breathe," she hisses. He turns on the lamp and struggles to get up on his knees. He sees fear in her eyes as she tries to gulp in air.

"Yes you can," he says calmly as he sits down next to her. "You're just having a panic attack." He pulls the sheets away from her to make her feel less confined.

"Can't breathe," she says again, shaking her head, pressing her hand to her heart.

"You _think_ that you are not getting enough oxygen, but you are. You're actually hyperventilating. No need for deeper breaths," he reassures her. "Put your hands out," he says, demonstrating what he wants her to do. "Come on, put out your hands like this."

She stretches them out in front of her. Her arms are shaking badly.

"All right, now put them up slowly. Like this." He moves his arms upwards towards the ceiling. Cuddy is still frantic and not following him. "Cuddy, focus." He places his fingers under her palms and moves her arms up for her. "And now breathe in. Come on." Cuddy tries to do what he says.

"Okay, good. Now breathe out," he says as he moves her arms downward. "You're doing great. One more time." He repeats this with her for several breaths. "Okay, now you go," he says and lets go of her hands. "Arms up, breath goes in." She manages to get her arms up halfway, trying to coordinate it with her breathing. "All right. Now back down."

She focuses on the repetitive exercise until her breath returns back to normal and the panic subsides. "Oh God," she exclaims exhaustedly, bringing one hand in front of her face. She is drenched in sweat, her complexion as white as the wall.

"It's okay," he tries to calm her as he gently rubs her arm. When she has quieted down a little, he gets up and fetches her some dry clothes.

"Here," he says. "Put these on. I'll go get you some water."

When he returns, she has not moved. She is just lying there, staring at the wall. He sets the glass down on the nightstand and helps her into a sitting position. She is still shaking and hardly manages to hold the glass, so he steadies it as she drinks.

"Thank you," she whispers when he sets the glass back down. He knows she means more than the drink of water.

He just nods. "We need to get you out of your wet clothes," he says, looking at her for some clue as to how to go about this. He gets no response, though, so he turns off the light to protect her privacy before he helps her change.

"Try to go back to sleep," he mutters as he tucks her in. He then lies down himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The next morning, he gets up early to make them both breakfast, another smoothie for Cuddy, and prepare them both lunch boxes.

On the kitchen counter he leaves Cuddy a note that tells her to check the fridge and makes sure she is up before he heads out with Rachel.

On his way back to the house, he stops by the store for some laundry detergent and ingredients he needs for the curry he plans on cooking for dinner. By the time he gets back, Cuddy has gone to work. He has breakfast by himself while flipping though the channels.

His leg starts hurting more due to the permanent strain; he isn't used to this much walking. His shoulder also begins to act up, both from the use of his cane and from sleeping on the floor three nights in a row. To alleviate the pain a little, he takes a bath, does some exercises for his leg, and some stretches for his shoulder. He is tired from the short nights and all the housework, so he lies down on the couch and takes a nap.

Around lunchtime, he calls Cuddy to remind her to eat.

"You really didn't need to prepare me lunch," she says, sounding partly annoyed and partly thankful. "The hospital does have a cafeteria, you know?"

"Well, obviously you decided to boycott it," he retorts. "Plus, this way, you don't even need to get up. Put your feet up on the desk, open the lid, and start eating. You can even keep doing your boring administrative business while munching."

"Thank you," she says. He is not sure whether she sarcastically means him insulting her work or him making lunch for her. "I'm busy. I'll see you later." He hears her hang up.

After his own lunch, he cleans the bathroom and leaves to pick up Rachel from school. On their way back home in the car, he realizes he actually enjoys spending time with her. She is smart, funny, and wise beyond her years; sometimes surprising him with a witty remark he did not see coming.

Back at the house she does her homework at the table in the living room while he starts to prepare dinner. She interrupts him from time to time, asking about a math problem or a word she has not heard before, and he happily explains it to her. When she is done, she wants to help House with the cooking, and they end up goofing around and try to shoot rice into the boiling water from a spoon.

Cuddy returns from work around seven, completely exhausted. She takes off her coat and her heels before heading straight for her bedroom, her purse tucked under her arm.

"Wait," House stops her, walking towards her. "Give me your purse."

"What?" she asks, looking at him with wide eyes. "No."

"All right, then give me the pills _inside_ the purse," he demands, holding out his hand. "I know the way of drug addicts. When there's a chance to refill, we refill." He stares at her with a pointed look.

"I didn't…" she starts, but her energy runs out as she sees the futility of her denial. "House, I need those," she says exasperatedly. "What if I have an attack at work? In front of a solicitor or my employees? I cannot start panicking at work."

"If you do, you excuse yourself and go to the restroom. You call me from there. I'll talk you through it." he says, taking the purse from her.

He fishes for the pills and comes across her still full lunch box. "You didn't eat your lunch," he says accusatorially, holding up the box.

She avoids his eyes. "I forgot. There was no time," she says quietly. She looks so tired and small, he decides to let it go for now.

"Dinner is ready," is all he says as he hands her back the now drug-free purse.

She goes to her room to change and take off her make up while House and Rachel set the table. They eat rather quietly, Cuddy with her head resting in her hand, her fork seldom lifting up to her mouth.

While Rachel packs her school bag for the next day and gets ready for bed, House walks over to Cuddy who is drifting off to sleep on the couch.

"Cuddy," he insists as he sits down next to her. "You need to eat. You need the energy to get through the day." He tries to reason with her.

"I just forget. I don't feel hungry," she says with closed eyes.

"Maybe you can put it on your desk first thing in the morning," he suggests. "Visual stimulation. And you need to reconnect with your body again. Relearn to pay attention to its signals." He gets up and rummages through a shelf by the TV. "You have a tennis ball or something like that?"

"Second drawer to the left," she mumbles. "But I'm really not up for it."

"Here," he says, returning to her with the ball he found in the drawer.

"Sit up." He pulls on her arm.

She grumbles as she sits up reluctantly, her arms curling around her knees. "What are you doing?"

He sits down behind her and puts the ball on her back, applying pressure to it with his hand. "Try to relax," he says. "Pay attention to the sensation." She grumbles again, but rests her head on her knees obligingly. House works his way up and down the muscles next to her spine, rolls the ball over her shoulders and along her shoulder blades. She sighs occasionally, and he hears her breath deepen.

"What are you up to?" Rachel asks, as she comes back in her pajamas. She is full of energy, excited and curious about what is happening.

"I'm trying to make your mom reconnect to her body."

"Reconnect what to her body? Everything looks pretty attached to me," Rachel muses, eyeing her mother.

"My point exactly," mumbles Cuddy.

"We're reconnecting her spirit," House states in an imitate yogi voice. "You wanna help?"

"Oh yay, of course," Rachel exclaims.

"All right," House looks around and sees Cuddys yoga mat in the corner behind the shelf. He gets it and unrolls it on the carpet in front of the couch. "Here, lie down," House instructs Cuddy, tugging at her elbow. Cuddy gets off the couch with a sigh and lies down on her stomach.

"So where did her spirit go?" Rachel wants to know. "Playing peek-a-boo?"

House chuckles. "Something like that. You search her legs, I'll cover her back."

"How? Can I get the ball?" asks Rachel.

House looks at it contemplatively before tossing it over to her. She misses it, and it rolls under the coffee table.

"We'll work on that after school tomorrow," House says to her as she crawls to the table and retrieves it.

"Not inside the house," Cuddy protests weakly, her words muffled by her arm.

"Well, of course not," House says with feigned indignation, winking at Rachel. She giggles. When she is next to him again, he says: "Just roll it up and down her legs. Put some pressure on it with your palm. Draw circles. Or a picture. It's up to you, really."

Rachel places the ball on Cuddy's right calf as he starts to gently massage her shoulders with his hands. He feels every rib, every tendon, and every muscle in her back.

Cuddy lets it all pass over her quietly and only hisses from time to time when he hits a particularly tender spot.

"I made a star," Rachel says proudly. "Did you feel that, Mom?"

"Not really. Try again, maybe."

So she does, pointing out the corners as she goes along. "How is your spirit, Mom? Have you found it yet?"

"I'm not quite sure. I do know that it is getting tired," she yawns. "You can draw on me some more tomorrow."

"Okay," she says and puts down the ball. House stops as well and pulls back to give them some space. Rachel lies down half next and half on top of her mother. "I love you, Mom," she says, caressing Cuddy's head.

"Oh sweetie," Cuddy sounds touched. She turns sideways so she can pull her daughter into her arms. "I love you, too. So much. No matter where my spirit is," she smiles slightly and kisses her daughter on the forehead.

Rachel smiles back and returns the kiss. "Good night," she says. Then she jumps up and heads for bed.

House feels old as he slowly manages to get up off the floor himself.

"You okay?" he asks, as he holds a hand out to Cuddy.

She takes it and slowly gets up. "Yeah. Thank you."

He rubs his shoulder absentmindedly.

When they are both in the bedroom ready to lie down, she says: "Sleep on the bed if you want. I don't mind."

He looks at Michael's side of the bed. He shakes his head no. This would be too awkward. "I'm good down here," he says. He had added another sleeping bag earlier today, hoping that the increased padding would relieve some of the pain in his shoulder.

She just shrugs and tells him good night.

It is not a good night, though. He tosses and turns for hours, too uncomfortable to sleep. As he is just about to drift off, Cuddy starts to fidget.

"No, please don't," she mumbles in her sleep. He pushes himself up and sits down next to her. As he tries to wake her, she keeps getting louder and louder, her voice close to yelling. "No, no, no. Stop this." She fights his hands desperately, and when he finally manages to pull her out of her nightmare and she realizes where she is, she starts to cry, completely heartbroken.

For the first time she actively seeks his comfort and clings to him, her hands gripping his T-shirt and pulling him close. She sobs into his chest, crying openly without trying to hold back. He has always felt uncomfortable in these situations, helpless and uncertain of what to do. He just lies there next to her and strokes her back, not knowing what to say. It takes a long time before she calms down.

When she is about to drift back off to sleep, he starts to push himself backwards off the bed.

"Stay here," she protests softly, her hand holding onto his arm. "I'll take Michael's side. You can stay on mine," she mutters as she slowly scoots back on the mattress, creating some distance between them.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "I don't mind—"

"It's okay," she interrupts him before tumbling back into her dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Tuesday morning passes by rather unexceptionally. He naps mostly and does some exercises. Around lunchtime, he texts Cuddy, reminding her to eat. When he gets no reply from her, he texts her again half an hour later. 'You ate, yet?'

Nothing. He sends another text five minutes after that. 'How was lunch?'

Finally, he gets a reply. 'Good.'

'What was on it?' He tests her.

Again, she makes him wait. When he tries to call, he only gets to her voice mail.

'I'm eating', she writes twenty minutes later. He hopes this is true and decides to leave her alone. He cannot force her to eat, anyway.

He gets a text from Rachel informing him that she is staying at a friend's house after school. Having nothing else to do, he spends his afternoon ironing and doing laundry.

He is zapping through the channels when Cuddy returns from work around seven. He turns his head toward her. She looks pale and exhausted.

"You didn't eat your lunch, did you?" he asks with slight accusation in his voice. He gets up from the couch and limps over to her.

She looks like she is annoyed about his inquisition, but readily takes her lunch box out of her purse and hands it to him wordlessly. It is, in fact, empty.

He observes her face carefully, his eyes narrowed. "You expected me to ask, didn't you?" he frowns suspiciously. He opens the lid and inspects the box more closely. "It's too empty," he states.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "I guess it was just too damn good," she says with mock enthusiasm. She moves away from him slightly as she puts down her purse and takes off her coat. To him, this is a hint: he is on the right track.

He follows her and decreases the distance between them again. He knows his physical proximity puts her under more pressure. "There aren't even any crumbs left," he says, watching her closely. "Which can only mean…" He turns the box over.

She looks at the box and then quickly glances up at him with a guilty face and conscience.

He widens his eyes. "You dumped your lunch!" he says. His voice is reproachful.

She looks at the ground, obviously uncomfortable with the confrontation. "I ate some of it," she mumbles weakly as she bends down to take off her heels, trying to somehow escape the situation.

"What does that mean? You had two bites? I can't believe you'd—" This is as far as he gets with the sentence when he sees her loose her balance, trip over a pair of Rachel's shoes and fall forward. He reacts quickly and takes as step towards her as she crashes against his chest. He barely manages to keep them both up as he staggers backwards, leaning heavily on his cane. The lunch box drops to the floor with a thud.

It takes him a moment to order his thoughts. He breathes heavily into her hair, her head pressed against his chest. He notices he has his left arm draped around her; he senses her breath, short and hot, through his shirt.

"You okay?" he asks when she does not draw back from him. "Did you hurt your ankle?"

"No, I'm fine," she mutters, still clinging to him. He feels her left hand gripping his upper arm; her right hand is pulling on his shirt. "Just a little dizzy." Her breath is too shallow and he realizes that she has no energy to draw herself back up.

"Here," he murmurs as he bends down to scoop her up in his arms. He walks the few steps over to the couch where he sets her down carefully.

"Cuddy," he whispers, pleading with her. He checks her pulse with concern. It is only slightly elevated, but she was undoubtedly compromising her health with her conduct. Why would she do this to herself? She must know that she is extremely underweight and that her body will eventually break down. He is at a loss trying to explain her self-destructive behavior.

"I honestly tried," she murmurs with eyes closed. "I just started when my assistant came in because…" She thinks for a moment, furrowing her eyebrows. "I don't even remember."

He looks at her sadly, feeling helpless. He considers her motives as he absentmindedly traces his thumb over the tendons on the inside of her wrist. 'She has children who need her,' he thinks. 'She should get a grip on herself, at least for their sake'. But then again, who was he to judge? For years, people who cared about him had tried to help him, had given him noble advice, but he had refused to listen to all of them. He told himself they were idiots. He believed he knew something they did not: that he deserved his misery.

This gives him an idea. "Is this another one of your many guilt trips?"

"What?" She opens her eyes slightly and looks at him puzzled. "No, I didn't—"

"You are punishing yourself. For something you think you did wrong. Your husband's death…" he wonders, squinting at her. "Maybe there's something you hadn't told him before he died, something you feel guilty about. Or it's simply the fact that he died. An incident you actually had no control over, but still feel you failed to prevent. Maybe if you had seen the signs sooner, he would still be alive. Maybe you should have asked for my help sooner, maybe I could have saved him." He knows he hit the right spot when Cuddy starts to tear up.

"Cuddy," he breathes, his voice reaching for her. "This wasn't your fault. Bad things happen to good people. Even to you. Sometimes there is a reason, most of the time there isn't. His death had nothing to do with what you did or didn't do. It wasn't a punishment for your failure."

Her face cracks at his words, and she hides it behind her hands as she starts to cry. She curls into a little ball, lying on her side, as she sobs into her palms. He moves over to the end of the couch and sits down by her head, resting one hand on her ribcage. He just stays quiet and waits for her pain to subside. Occasionally he reminds her to breathe, brushing his fingers over her midriff.

When she finally calms down he offers her a tissue from the coffee table. "How about I heat up some curry from last night?" he asks, his voice soft. She takes the tissue and nods before wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.

They eat on the couch with the TV turned on when Rachel calls and asks if one of them can come pick her up. "I'll go," he tells Cuddy, who is thankful for his offer.

"Your plate better be empty when I get back," he threatens affectionately, grabbing his keys and putting on his coat. "I will check the trash. And the neighbors'."

She gives him a small melancholy smile before he heads out the door.

When he returns with Rachel, Cuddy is already in bed. He stays up with Rachel for a while and asks her about her day. After, they challenge each other on who can produce the most foam with their toothbrush, they say good night and head to their rooms.

Cuddy is fast asleep on Michael's side of the bed and he is uncertain about where to lie down. He considers the couch, the bed, and the makeshift bed, but cannot make up his mind. He stands there and stares at her sleeping form, feeling like an intruder. He finally decides to leave the door to her bedroom open and lie down on the couch. If she needs him, he will probably hear her from there as well.

It turns out that she does not need him, after all. For the first time since Michael's second hospitalization, she sleeps through the night, even without pills, until her alarm goes off in the morning.


	11. Chapter 11

_It's really nice to know there are people out there who like this story. Thanks for the kind words, they mean a lot to me! I usually don't write my FanFic down – I just make up a story in my head and then forget about it again. This one kept coming back to me, though, so I thought I'd give writing a try. I am actually enjoying it more than I thought I would._

_Thanks again to Marmite for feedback and proofreading!_

**Chapter 11**

On Wednesday, he tries to call her around lunchtime to no avail. He is tired of the text messaging and his lack of control over her irresponsible behavior, so he decides to drive to the hospital. It does not take him long to find her office, but of course it is being guarded by a strict looking female assistant.

"I need to stop you right there, Dr. Cuddy is in a meeting," she says, getting up from her chair and blocking his way. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm Dr. Cuddy's private lawyer, actually," he says, shaking the briefcase he is carrying with emphasis. In the last minute before he left the house, he had grabbed it from a rack near the door and changed into the nicest clothes he brought. He is still miles away from the look of importance lawyers usually seem to exude, though, and she eyes him suspiciously. "I'm sure you know about her recent loss…" he looks down at her name-tag, "…Gloria. Something urgent has come up regarding her husband's will, and I need to speak with Dr. Cuddy right away."

Gloria hesitates, so he adds a solemn but reassuring expression. "Dr. Cuddy told me to make sure you inform her about my arrival."

"I'll see what I can do," she says finally, heading for Cuddy's door.

Three minutes later she comes out, tailed by an older, rich looking couple who eye him with slight indignation. They are obviously not used to loosing anyone's center of attention. House just smirks at them and throws Gloria an approving nod along with his best version of a thankful smile before entering Cuddy's office.

She sits at her desk and stares at him in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't reply to my text. It's time for lunch," he says matter-of-factly, sitting down in a chair across from her.

"That was an important meeting. Those people were planning on donating—"

"Don't care," he interrupts her. "Eating is higher up on your to-do list. Where's your lunch?"

She exhales deeply and shakes her head, still annoyed about his audacity. "I can't believe my assistant bought that story. You look like a door-to-door salesman who tries to talk good-spirited, naive housewives into buying an apple cutter." She lunges into the mini-fridge she has in her office and pulls out the lunch box. "When nobody in the world needs an apple cutter," she mutters, opening the lid.

He gives a small smile. "People tend not to ask too many question when you bring up death. Everyone is so discreet. Plus, they tend to put their trust in lawyers. Just like doctors. Nobody wants to look like an idiot, so it's easier to just nod along than to think for yourself."

She has started eating her sandwich while he talked. "So you gonna come here every day now, interrupt my meetings?" she asks, chewing.

He shrugs. "It'd definitely pose a challenge to repeatedly convince Mrs. Doubtfire out there for trespass. She seems like quite the bull terrier."

Cuddy smirks. "She wards off all unsprayed interns and depleted doters from sniffing my rear and peeing all over the floor," she mumbles with her mouth full.

"As long as it's this way around… When it's the interns who start leaking and only the old, rickety personnel still have the hots for you, I'd start barricading the door."

She smiles for a brief second.

"How's the sandwich?" he asks.

"It's good," she says, taking another bite. "My next meeting starts in ten minutes."

He just nods and sits there quietly, waiting for her to finish.

After a while she asks him what he says to other people when he picks up Rachel or drops her off at some place.

He shrugs. "Just that I'm an old friend of the family who is helping out a little."

She raises her eyebrows. "An old friend of the family?"

"What do you want me to tell 'em?" he asks, slightly raising his voice. "That I'm a miserable bastard who couldn't find a better way to spend his vacation?" He knows he sounds bitter.

She seems a little taken aback by his intense reaction. "No," she says, furrowing her eyebrows. "I just… A friend texted me and asked me if I was getting any help. I didn't quite know what to text back. I wanted to be consistent with you and Rachel. Did you talk to her about it?"

"I think she says the same thing," he says, getting up. Cuddy has finished eating and he wants to get out. "That you know me from before you moved here." He sounds tired and defeated.

"Thanks for the lunch patrol," she offers as he heads for the door.

He turns around briefly and nods at her before he leaves. "I'll see you later."

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Later that day around three pm, he gets a call from Cuddy.

"Hello?" he asks into his phone.

"House," she breathes, sounding upset. Her voice is low and he can hardly hear her.

"Cuddy, what's up? Where are you?"

"Bathroom," she presses out. "Bathroom stall." He hears the panic in her voice.

"Okay," he says, keeping his voice even. "It'll be okay. Stand in the corner with your back against the door and press one shoulder against the side of the stall."

"I can't breathe, House." She can barely get the words out, sounding desperate.

"Just do what I say, Cuddy," he insists gently. "You'll be fine. Focus on the door pressing into your back. Put out the arm that is leaning against the side of the stall and press your hand flat against the wall." He waits a second. "Got it?"

"Yeah," she presses out.

"Okay good. Now, with your arm out straight, move your hand up as you keep it pressed against the wall. As your arm comes up, you breathe in."

He hears her take in a quick breath.

"Now move your hand down and breathe out." He hears a hissing noise. "Focus on the surface of the wall under your hand. Move it back up slowly as you breathe in." He waits a few seconds. "And back down, releasing your breath." He keeps going like this for a few minutes. He hears her breath getting longer with each up and down movement.

"You got it, Cuddy, you're okay," he reassures her. "Sit down on the toilet seat now. Take some more long and deep breaths."

He listens to her breathe until she is calm enough to think clearly. "All right," she says, sounding exhausted.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Thank you. I'll see you later," she says and hangs up.

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That night she asks him to stay with her, too scared to sleep by herself.

"You slept by yourself yesterday," he argues. "I will hear you from the couch. Besides, you need to get used to sleeping alone again."

"How about I get used to it at the weekend?" she suggests. "When I don't have to get up at six thirty the next day." She is sitting on Michael's side of the bed and looks at him beseechingly. "House, please. Just two more nights."

He cannot say no to her, so he gets into bed next to her.

"Thank you," she says, turning off the light. She turns onto her side, facing him. He lies on his back with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

"You had them, too, didn't you?" she asks, looking at him in the dim light that shines in from the street.

He turns his head towards her. "What?"

"Panic attacks."

He turns his head back, not saying anything.

"When?" She knows his lack of a reply means yes.

He waits for a while, unwilling to answer. "In college," he finally discloses in a low and quite voice.

"Before or after we met?" She sounds surprised and curious.

He keeps talking to the ceiling, obviously uncomfortable about the topic. "Before. In my first year."

"Any time after that?"

He swallows. Why can she not just let this go? "Few months after Wilson died." His mouth is dry. He was in jail at that time, but he does not mention this to her. He hates these types of conversations. "When was your first one?" he asks, turning his head towards her again. He wants to divert the attention to her in order to avoid her sympathy.

Now it is her turn to look away. She rolls onto her back, creating more distance between them. "When I first came to live here with Rachel."

Damn. Now he wished he had not turned the topic towards her.

"The first months were really tough." Her voice is raw; she sounds tired.

"Why didn't your sister move closer to you?" he asks. Julia had always been Cuddy's big protector.

"She had just moved closer to Princeton with Bill and the kids back when we were still dating, remember? To be nearer to me and Rachel. Bill had gotten a job, they bought a house, found schools for the kids… I told her to stay put."

He does not know what to say, so he just lies there and looks at her profile.

"My mom stayed with us for a while. Which wasn't always helpful." She says this with both humour and sadness in her voice.

He just makes a sound of understanding in the back of his throat. Arlene could definitely be quite a handful.

He wonders how they had both gotten to this point in their lives. So much pain and hurt. So many things unsaid, yet they were lying here in bed together. And he still cannot get the right words out.

After a while in which neither of them speaks, she turns away from him to lie on her other side. He feels tense and just waits with his eyes open, staring into the darkness. He relaxes a little when he hears the sound of her breathing, knowing that she is asleep.

Lying right beside her makes calming her down in the middle of the night much easier. When she starts tossing around, he only has to stretch out his arm to caress her back or reach for her hand. He tries different ways of soothing her without waking her up, finding that slow and even strokes up and down her spine with his hand flat against her back are the most effective.

That night she only wakes up once, slightly out of breath, but falls back asleep swiftly.

In the morning when he wakes up, she is lying closer to him than he expected. Her sleeping face only a couple of feet away from his. He has a strong urge to reach out and touch her. This is exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He clenches his hands into fists, gets up quietly, and limps into the bathroom to get ready for yet another day with the Cuddy girls.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The following two days pass by quickly. He manages the household while Cuddy and Rachel are gone, picks up Rachel from school, and spends the rest of the afternoon with her.

On both days around lunchtime, Cuddy texts him to let him know she is eating. 'Prove it', he demands on Thursday, so she sends him a picture of her sitting at her desk, biting into her sandwich. On Friday, he gets a similar picture without having to prompt her.

He and Rachel invent fun games inside the house, play the unapproved throw and catch with the tennis ball they use to massage Cuddy at night, try out new fun apps on their smartphones, and bake rainbow cookies. At one point he addresses the topic he wishes he could scratch from his past, wanting to know if she had made up her mind about it.

"What happened to you after that? Did you get punished?" she wants to know.

"I was in jail for a year," he says.

She considers this. "I don't really see the point in being angry now," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "You're here to help. I don't feel angry at all, actually. Mom is eating. She smiles sometimes. And she stopped taking all those pills that made her tired." She fiddles with her hair and looks down sadly, almost as if she is afraid or ashamed of her words. "She stopped screaming at night."

House takes in a breath and pats her head gently. He cannot imagine what the last months must have been like for her. "Your mom is really lucky to have you, you know?" he says, playfully rubbing his fist over her head.

"Hey," she exclaims, fighting off his hand. "My hair."

He smiles. "Come on," he says, changing the subject. "Let's figure out what we need for your project." Rachel has to build a marble roller coaster for her science class. The teacher gave several restrictions all kids need to comply to. The goal is to keep the marble running for as long as possible. House wishes they had been given assignments like this when he was in school, and he is thrilled to help her.

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Cuddy gets home late from work Friday night. She is exhausted from the week, but overall, she looks much better than when he first arrived here seven days ago.

"Honey, do you mind if I don't come to your game tomorrow?" she asks Rachel at dinner. "I brought home some work, and I also want to try and get a hold of aunt Julia, to tell her about House. So we don't have to censor ourselves any longer when we talk with them."

"It's okay. It's not an important game," she says chewing on her beans.

"Will you go with her?" she asks, turning towards House.

He nods. "Of course. Got any pom-poms? I make a great cheerleader."

Cuddy smiles, but gets self-conscious about it and stops herself. It is almost as if she feels guilty for being happy every once in a while.

Rachel giggles. "Please don't, what will my friends say?"

He shrugs. "They'll be impressed. Tell them I only take five bucks per lesson, but it will take them a while to get to my level." He winks at her.

After dinner they watch a movie. Cuddy sits on the carpet, her back leaning against the couch, with Rachel behind her, braiding her hair. "Mom, your hair is really grey on top."

House had noticed this, too, but had been tactful enough not to mention it. Cuddy has obviously had more pressing concerns lately than the greying of her hairline.

She looks slightly embarrassed, dips her head low, and touches the crown of her head. "I know. I guess I missed my last appointment with Carol. And I ran out of color."

"We can pick something up after the game tomorrow," House offers. Cuddy looks at him blankly; he cannot quite read her expression. "Gotta buy material for Rachel's science project, anyways. Just let me know which one to get. Or better yet, send me a picture. So we won't get lost in the isle of a thousand different hair colors. A thousand times ten, actually, since each brand has its on interpretation of Hazelnut-brown-on-a-sunny-day-at-the-beach. In-a-cool-breeze," he sighs theatrically, trying to lighten the mood.

"Cool, can I get that one?" Rachel beams.

"You already have that one," Cuddy says affectionately as she gets up and ruffles her daughter's hair. "I'm going to bed." She kisses Rachel on the crown of her head.

"Good night, Mom."

"Good night, honey."

House gets up, too, and walks into the bedroom to get some of the blankets he had been sleeping under. She looks at him with a worried expression.

"You'll be fine," he says. "I'll be right out there." He points his head towards the couch.

He sees her jaw tense, but she nods and heads for the bathroom.

House and Rachel finish the movie before getting to bed as well.

At two am, House wakes up. A small light is on in the kitchen and he hears someone opening a cabinet. He lifts himself up on his elbows.

Cuddy is at the sink, pouring a glass of water.

"You're not taking a pill, are you?" he asks.

She turns around. "No. I just couldn't go back to sleep. Sorry if I woke you," she says, walking towards him. "Can I sit with you for a little while?"

"It's your couch," he shrugs and sits up, scooting back into the corner of the couch. As he does, he tosses her one of his blankets.

"Thanks," she mutters as she sits down by his feet, pulling her knees up to her chest.

"So… A dollar for your thoughts?" he asks.

She raises her eyebrows. "Because a penny's not enough?"

"A dollar isn't, either, but that's all I got in my PJ pants pocket." He actually does pull out a dollar from under his blankets.

She looks slightly amused. "Your secret store for rough times?"

"Used to be my secret store for Vicodin."

Her face turns serious. "You're really completely off the drugs?"

"Six years and counting," he says mock enthusiastically.

"And how is your leg?"

"Hurting. I just stopped trying to fix it." The same way he stopped trying to fix his life. Wanting to move on with the topic he waves the dollar bill in the air. "So, you want this or not?"

She sighs and puts her elbow up against the back of the couch, resting her head on her arm. "It's just so many things. Work, what I'm going to tell Julia, what I'm going to tell John…"

"Tell John what?" he asks.

She takes another deep breath. "He keeps asking me when he can come home. I think he should finish the school year there. But it's still almost five months until then."

"That's a long time for a kid," House concurs.

"I know. But it's difficult to transfer right in the middle. Both from the educational and the social perspective. Plus, I'm not sure I could handle it, yet." She contemplates her words and shakes her head. "God, that sounds awful. What kind of a mother gives her kid away like that?"

"You know, most insects and fish just lay their kids in eggs and go for the runner," he tries to joke, but it falls flat and she looks forlornly into the distance. "You obviously thought it was the best among all the options," he offers eventually. "And you didn't give him away. It's temporary. Besides, what does your sister say?"

"She says he's doing okay." She sounds uncertain. "I actually don't get to talk to her much. They have three kids themselves; they're always busy at the weekends… Sometimes it's hard to even find the time to skype with John."

House nods. "You'll know more tomorrow." He folds the dollar into a paper plane and shoots it in her direction. It lands in front of her on the blanket. "You definitely earned this."

She picks it up and inspects it closely, holding it up to her face. "You ever been in a contest?" she asks. Her voice is low and a little slurry, and he knows she is getting sleepy again.

"Plenty. At school, during recess, we'd fly them from the balcony to see whose went furthest. We had a scoring list, actually. Getting someone else's nose got twenty points. Whoever hit our English teacher with one during class got fifty points. Plus extra points for landing it _on her landing_, if you know what I mean." He draws up his eyebrows, a look of entertainment on his face.

She chuckles slightly at this.

"Of course you had to make sure she didn't see where it came from, so it was especially tricky. Getting it into a girl's cleavage so that it stayed was also high on the list. That only worked from a C-cup up." He is mainly babbling for her benefit now, trying to lull her to sleep. Her eyelids are beginning to droop. "I was number one on the list, of course, though Tom Hayden put up a good fight."

He talks on for a while even after her eyes are closed, to make sure she does not wake up again. He quietly watches her for a few minutes until she is fast asleep, then he carries her to bed.


	13. Chapter 13

_Here goes another not so intense chapter. Hope you enjoy anyways._

**Chapter 13**

Saturday morning he heads out with Rachel and watches her game. They win three to two, and Rachel runs to him afterwards, giving him a high five.

"You want me to do my routine now?" he asks, smiling at her.

"That's okay, really. Lindsay invited everyone over to celebrate," she says, looking at him questioningly.

"You wanna call your mom and ask her real quick?" he suggests.

"Yeah, but what about the roller-coaster? We wanted to go shopping," she explains her dilemma.

"That's cool. You can pay me back with two loads of laundry," he jests, and pulls out his cell to call Cuddy.

He goes to the store by himself and returns to the house alone.

Cuddy is sitting on the couch, her laptop propped up on her thighs. "Hi," she greets him as he steps in.

"Hey," he says, putting down the bags and taking off his shoes and coat. He tosses the carton containing the hair color on the couch next to her.

"Thanks." She closes the laptop and sets it aside.

"Did you get to talk to your sister?" he asks, plopping down on the couch as well.

She nods. "I skyped with her," she says, nodding towards her laptop. Then she sighs. "She was short of getting in the car and driving up here to throw you out herself."

He expected as much. Julia has never been his biggest fan, and he does not blame her. "I think I would be able to take her," he jokes without real humor in his voice.

"She threatened she won't be there for me next time you decide to blow everything up and leave me with the shambles." She tells him this rather dryly, not giving him any clues as to what she thinks about this.

"Look," he starts hesitantly. "If you'll be fine, I say this isn't worth risking your relationship with your sister. I'll just go." He means what he says. After all, she does seem much better than a week ago.

"If I thought I was, I wouldn't have had this conversation with her," Cuddy huffs. "I think when I told her I had started using Michael's deodorant because I had run out of mine, she finally realized how bad things actually were." She says this with mild amusement, shaking her head from side to side. "I'm a mess, House. A week ago, I didn't even have the guts to admit that." Her head is hanging low, her eyes downcast.

He does not know what to say, so he just sits there quietly.

"I used to be so sure of myself," she says contemplatively, staring at nothing in particular. She is more talking to herself than to him. "I always felt like I could handle anything. Give me a problem and I'll solve it," she scoffs, a sarcastic smile on her face. "Now it feels like my whole foundation is gone." She angrily wipes at the tears that start falling from her eyes. "All I know to do is cry." She gestures towards her face as if to say 'Exhibit A'. "Or panic." She shakes her head again, frustrated at her weakness. "I don't even recognize myself anymore." She looks at the ceiling in desperation as more tears run down her cheeks.

"You've had to deal with many losses. Your Mom. Your husband. Maybe it was just too much." House watches her struggle with herself. "Loss increases the feeling of helplessness. Takes away your control." He shrugs, not sure how to comfort her. "It'll get better."

She glances at him sideways. "God, you sound like a shrink," she smiles at him through her tears, and leans over to grab a tissue from the coffee table. He had actually seen Doctor Nolan for a while after his second imprisonment, but he decides not to share this with her. Back then, he had struggled hard not to go back on drugs, and he needed a familiar face to talk to. Moreover, Doctor Nolan had, in fact, been helpful to him when he had first gone off the Vicodin, even though it had not felt that way at the time.

After blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, Cuddy picks up the box of hair dye. "I haven't even offered to pay you back for all the groceries you've been buying," she states, changing the subject. "Is it okay if you just save the receipts and I write you a check at the end?"

"Don't worry about that," he says getting up. He is not interested in her money. "Have you had lunch yet?"

She shakes her head no.

"How about I fix us something while you grace your head with chemicals?"

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The rest of the weekend and the following week pass by rather smoothly. Due to the regular meals and a more restful sleep, Cuddy's energy level keeps increasing. She starts having an active part in the conversations at the dinner table, and on Wednesday night they even sit together a bit longer to play board games. She also takes care of some of the chores again, especially the ones she feels embarrassed about House doing, for example, ironing her blouses or washing her underwear.

Her nightmares have ebbed down and she only has two other panic attacks, both at night. For the first one she calls House, for the second one she even manages to walk to the couch and wake him up before it really hits her.

On Saturday night, there is a play at Rachel's school. Cuddy and Rachel ask him to come along, but he declines and pretends that his leg is acting up. He wants to avoid uncomfortable social situations at school in which he would have to introduce himself and people might make assumptions about him. Also, he had no intention of being an active part of their lives above what was needed. After all, he was going to leave the following weekend. And besides, they had probably just asked him out of politeness, anyways. He thinks he saw a relieved look on Cuddy's face when he said no.

On their return, he is in Rachel's room, working on the roller coaster he had been building with Rachel all week. Rachel comes running in, looking thrilled. "What have you been up to?" she asks.

Cuddy stands in the door with her hands on her hips. "I didn't know you were going back to school, House. Did you skip sixth grade and are now catching up?"

He ignores her, too excited with his achievement. "Look," he demonstrates a mechanical catapult that propels the marble back up to the starting point. "It's an infinite roller coaster," he says proudly.

"That is so cool," Rachel says in awe, following the marble make its way back down.

"I thought this was supposed to be _Rachel's_ science project," Cuddy steps closer and watches the intricate work.

"Oh come on, like the other kids don't get help from their competitive, top-notch, I-am-rich-ergo-my-kid-must-be-a-genius parents." He rolls his eyes at her. Turning to Rachel, he says: "You are _so_ going to win this." She smiles at him.

"Or she will be disqualified for not sticking to the rules," Cuddy chides.

"We are perfectly within the rules." House thrusts the sheet Rachel got from the teacher at Cuddy. "There are only limits to the width, height, and length of this thing. The assignment doesn't forbid catapults."

"I'm sure what the teacher meant by 'The marble that runs the longest' was 'Runs the longest from top to bottom'," she says with her eyebrows raised.

"Then she should have been more specific," he retorts. He is not going to let anyone take this away from him or Rachel.

Rachel is still in awe, following the marble's way down the lanes with her eyes, squeaking when it finally jumps back up again. "Thanks, House," she says and turns towards him, hugging him around the waist.

He looks down at her uncomfortably and briefly glances at Cuddy, who just gives him a blank look. He finally pats Rachel lightly on the back and mumbles: "You're welcome."

Cuddy decides to drop the subject and eases up a little. "It _is_ really cool," she says and gives them a quick smile. "I'm off to bed," she adds and leaves the room, throwing a 'Good night' over her shoulder.


	14. Chapter 14

_Done with the not-so-intense... Have fun :-)_

**Chapter 14**

On Monday morning, he wakes Cuddy up before her alarm goes off.

"What's going on?" she asks groggily, looking at her clock. "I still got twenty minutes."

"Get up, I have a surprise for you," he says, pulling on her arm.

"Can I pee first?" she protests as she struggles out of bed.

"All right. Meet me in the living room."

He has connected the TV to his phone and placed her yoga mat in the center of the living room.

"This is my surprise?" she asks skeptically as she walks in, her eyebrows raised. "I get to do yoga?"

"It's not just yoga," he declares, enjoying himself. "It's yoga with Adriene!" He says this with mock enthusiasm and starts the video. "You're already in something comfy, so get started," he winks at her. "You need your regular exercise. This'll train your body, your mind, and your dark, wretched soul."

"This would be great for you as well then, right?" she retorts as she sits down cross-legged on her mat.

"Would if I could," he says, pointing at his leg. "I'm setting your alarm to six ten," he throws over his shoulder as he heads into her bedroom.

When Rachel is up and ready to go, she and House transport the roller coaster to the car together—her project is due today.

Cuddy kisses Rachel goodbye when they are about to leave. "Good luck with that, honey." House puts on his hat and follows Rachel out the door. "See you tonight," Cuddy calls out after him. He turns around briefly and nods at her.

When he picks Rachel up after school, she comes running towards the car with a blue ribbon in her hand, declaring her first place win. They do a handshake they came up with the previous night. "I knew it," he says, looking at her proudly.

Rachel has a smug smile on her face all afternoon, and at night the three of them celebrate her victory with ice cream and alcohol-free cocktails.

On Tuesday, Cuddy has to work late, so Rachel and House eat dinner early and then get comfortable on the couch to play cards. They chat about a class she had that day, which revolved about solving conflicts. It was a special class session, set up because there had been several bouts involving fists amongst some of her classmates.

"Have you ever got in a fight?" he asks her curiously. He can picture her punching a mean boy in the face if necessary.

"Physically? No. Just with John. But he usually looses." She smiles triumphantly.

"You get along well with your brother?"

"Yes, most of the time. Sometimes he gets really angry, though. And he gets in trouble at school much more since mom and dad told him about the adoption."

House had not mentioned the topic before because he had not known whether Cuddy and Michael had been open to their kids about the topic. "When did your parents tell you?"

"Mom told me since I remember. It was never a big deal, because it was normal, I guess." She has shuffled the UNO cards and deals them each seven.

"Then why was it a big deal for your brother?" House picks up his cards and plays his first one.

"They didn't tell him, really. He kind of figured it out himself and kept bugging mom until she admitted it. He was mad at all of us for lying to him. He said I wasn't even his real sister," she looks at her cards sadly.

House is confused. "Why were they open to you about your adoption but not to John?"

"They thought it might lead to an imbalance between mom and dad. That's what mom said. I never really understood it." She plays three cards in a row, looking at House gleefully.

"Speaking of imbalance…" he says, having to draw a card. He looks at it and has to pass. "Your turn. How would two people adopting a child together create imbalance?" Maybe he should be talking to Cuddy about this instead of Rachel. She obviously must have gotten something wrong.

"They didn't adopt John together," Rachel says, playing another card. "John was three when Michael adopted us both. After they got married."

House looks up at that. He had assumed Cuddy and Michael had adopted John as a toddler. "So when did your mom adopt him?" He doubts that Cuddy would adopt a second child on her own. Not after having moved out here by herself and having started a new job.

"She didn't. John is mom's real child," she says, looking at him thoughtfully.

House furrows his brows. "I don't think that's possible." He highly distrusts what she is telling him. Maybe they had been lying to Rachel and John both.

"It's true! I was there!" She looks at him, obviously irritated at his disbelief. "I remember her big belly. We have pictures, too." She gets up off the couch and goes to the big chest in the living room, pulling out some old photo books.

She brings them over to House and puts them down on the coffee table. Leafing through one of them, she finds the picture she had been looking for: Cuddy is sitting on a couch, smiling at a three year old Rachel who is standing on the couch next to her, her hands patting Cuddy's very round belly. House stares at the picture, his mouth slightly ajar. He turns the next several pages which show Cuddy in a hospital bed, holding a little baby; a baby lying in a crib next to a stuffed donkey; Rachel lying next to a baby on a blanket, caressing its little head. Beneath the picture with the crib, someone wrote the main information down: date of birth, weight, and head circumference. House looks at John's birthday and realizes that he was in jail at the time. He does the math and approximates that John was born less than a year after Cuddy quit PPTH.

"Who's the father?" he asks Rachel, his voice shaking. "John's biological father, I mean." He thinks of the guy Cuddy was with the day he drove his car into her house.

"I don't know. Mom said she never met the guy again."

House pages through the rest of the book, revealing more pictures of John as a baby and as a toddler. He sees a lot of Cuddy in him, with his bright blue eyes and his wide smile.

In the next book he opens, John is older, about five or six. There is a large picture of him taken at school by a professional photographer. He just looks at the camera with only a twitch of his lips. He looks like a bright and melancholy kid. House recognizes something in him, and it is not just the similarity he has with his mother. He gasps, dropping the book back on the table.

"What's wrong?" Rachel wants to know.

At that moment, they hear the key turn in the lock and Cuddy steps into the room. "Sorry I'm so late," she starts as she brushes in. "There was a—" she stops in her tracks when she sees what House is staring at.

He looks up at her and watches her expression hardening, her jaw clenching, and her body tensing up. He cannot say anything, so he asks her with his eyes. 'Is this true?'

She swallows hard. "I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner," she says, her voice even and detached.

He cannot believe what he is hearing. "But you were sick," he says, denying the possibility. "You were having surgery."

Her body language tells him she is not as relaxed as she tries to sound. She takes a small step forward but freezes in her tracks. She stands there with her coat and shoes still on, setting her purse down on the ground slowly. "It was after that. In the hospital. You came to me one night, remember?"

Of course he remembers. It was their last time together. He had practically begged her to sleep with him, promising her he would be careful with her stitches. After all those days of fearing for her life, he had needed to connect with her, had needed the physical intimacy so badly.

"I hadn't paid attention to regularly taking the pill after Wilson found the mass," she explains, her voice still low and even.

"So when did you know?" he asks. He is glad that his mind keeps going. He is too shocked to process any of this emotionally.

"The day after your little stunt. I was feeling sick all day, so they finally did an ultrasound."

He shakes his head. "But you must have been…" he tries to do the math between the time of her hospitalization and the last day he saw her, but fails. He is too upset, his mind not working properly.

"Ten weeks pregnant," she ends the sentence for him.

"How could you not have known?" he asks, incredulous.

"I was slightly distracted. I'd just had surgery, we'd broken up, you were acting out… I put the nausea on the pills I was taking. I didn't gain any weight, because I wasn't eating properly. I wasn't sleeping properly. My life was a mess."

House looks back down at the pictures, shaking his head. This is too much for him to take, and he sees his hands starting to tremble.

During all of this, Rachel was quiet on the couch, listening to the conversation and trying to make sense of it.

"So House is John's father?" she asks, looking at Cuddy.

Cuddy looks at her sadly and just nods once.

"Why didn't you tell him?" she wants to know.

Cuddy raises her eyebrows, drawing in a breath. She says her next words slowly and quietly. "Because I didn't want House to be a part of John's life. Or mine. Or yours."

House looses it at that point. A hot and angry energy claws its way up his chest and he thinks something inside him is going to explode. He has to get out of here before anything bad happens.

He grabs his cane and rushes to the entrance to put on his shoes.

"House, what are you doing?" Cuddy asks him, sounding alarmed.

He does not answer her and frantically tries to tie his shoes, but his hands are shaking too badly.

"House, please don't leave now. We need to talk about this!" Cuddy begs, walking towards him.

He tries to get up quickly to get away from her and steps on his own laces, causing him to crash down hard on the floor.

"House!" Cuddy cries out, rushing toward him with her arms out.

He jerks up his hand defensively, warding her off. "Don't!" he barks at her, his eyes raging with anger.

Her face falls, agony and sorrow written all over it as she steps back from him. Her eyes are filling with tears.

His cane is lying next to him, and he takes it as he struggles to get up, grabs his coat, and slams the door behind him as he hurries out.

He takes off in his car, his head a jumble. He cannot believe what just happened, cannot believe what he has just been told. He has a son! An eight-year-old son. With Cuddy—the God-damn love of his life. And she decided not to tell him because he drove his car into her house. How incredibly ironic was his fucking life? Why was it so messed up? He has a son, he has a son, he has a son. He shakes his head and speeds up the car.

It all starts to make sense to him now. Why he never saw John at the hospital to visit Michael. Why Cuddy had been so reluctant to receive his help. Why she did not show up at his fake funeral, or Wilson's real one. Why she quit PPTH straight away and broke off contact with everyone: To eliminate the possibility that someone would find out and leak the information to him. She wanted to make sure he was out of her life and never coming back again. So that he would never get the chance to mess with her and her family.

He realizes he is going way too fast and he starts to feels sick, so he pulls off the highway and onto a deserted supermarket parking lot. He stops and opens the car door to retch, but nothing comes out and he just sits there hunched over, taking in some shaky breaths. After slamming the door back shut he screams his lungs out, his pain overwhelming him. Nothing seems to help fight the ache in his chest, though. He wants some pills or booze or heroin. He wants to jump off of something.

Instead, he bangs his head against the headrest, wanting to feel something, anything, besides the acid burning inside him. When the headrest does not do the trick, he starts banging the side of his head against the window. He does not feel the physical pain, but the slamming against the glass causes some form of release; the sound distracts him from his thoughts.

Suddenly someone is in the car with him, attacking him. He had not even heard a car door open. He feels arms wrap around his head—they are going to suffocate him. He gets into fight mode and pushes forward, taking leverage from the car door, pressing his opponent back into the passenger seat. He hears someone cry out as if from a distance and sees dark hair fly across the air, obscuring his vision. When he manages to pin the body down and finally looks up to see who trespassed his car, he finds Cuddy staring at him, completely stunned. His face is only inches away from hers. They are both panting heavily, staring at each other.

She must have followed him out here. He sees the front lights of her car through his back windshield.

"House," she breathes. Her eyes are wide, but she seems more concerned than afraid.

He realizes he is grabbing her hard by her upper arm and on one wrist. The scene is a déjà vue from over eight years ago, and he instantly lets her go and scrambles back into his seat. "Sorry," he stammers. "I didn't realize…" is all he manages to get out. He had sworn he would never hurt her again.

He grabs onto the steering wheel, trying to keep control over his shaking hands. He stares at them, unable to look at her. His knuckles are turning white.

They are both quiet for a while, not knowing what to say.

"So you were never going to tell me?" he finally presses out, his voice shaking. It takes him a lot of effort not to shout at her.

"I was going to tell John." Her voice is small and quiet. "When he turned eighteen. Or twenty-one. Let him decide."

"What if I was dead by then?" he spits at her.

She has no answer for him and just looks out the windshield. "House," she starts, unsure about what so say. "I understand that you're angry. That you feel betrayed. But please try to see my side as well. What would you have done?"

"You had no right!" he yells, his eyes piercing hers. He had almost forgotten how incredibly narcissistic she could be sometimes. He grips the steering wheel more tightly and breathes heavily for a while.

After a few deep breaths, he does try to put himself into her position, though. He thinks of the day she found out about her pregnancy. It must have been the complete opposite of what should have been a joyous moment. She was carrying the child of a crazy lunatic who had put a gigantic hole in the side of her house. A man on the run, who was most likely going to be imprisoned; who had put her through so much grief and sorrow it would last her for a lifetime.

Moreover, he would have sucked as a father. He was a pill-popping egomaniac, incapable of providing any support for her or the child. On the contrary even: he would have made their lives worse, not better. In the few months after their break-up, he had been exceedingly destructive. He had hurt her in every way possible, to punish her for breaking his heart. He probably would have kept going in this manner, manipulating and guilt-tripping her, unintentionally letting his anger out on the baby as well. She made the right call. For her own sake as well as John's and Rachel's.

"But you made the right choice," he tells her sincerely, swallowing hard. "Now leave."

"House," she protests.

"I'm not angry at you," he says through gritted teeth. "I'm just _angry_. And I'm struggling hard right now not to let it out on you. So get the hell out."

She bows her head in defeat. "Will you come back?" she asks him, her voice low and anxious.

"Of course," he says, and he means it. Where else would he go?

She puts her hand on the door handle, but turns to him once again. "House?"

He keeps staring out the windshield.

"House, please look at me," she requests quietly.

Reluctantly, he turns his head towards her, his eyes briefly meeting her gaze. "Promise me you won't self-destruct."

He huffs. 'As if you give a damn', he wants to retort, but holds his tongue. "I only promise that to people who are dying," he says instead. The words feel bitter on his tongue.

She looks hurt and sorrowful. Causing her pain seems to be the only thing he can reliably provide her with.

"I won't," he adds.

She waits another beat, trying to evaluate if she can trust his word. Non-the-wiser, she gets out of his car.

He lies in the back seat for a while, looking out at the night sky. Eventually, he falls asleep, only to wake up again half an hour later, shaking from the cold. He turns the car back on and drives around the deserted streets.

When he gets back to the house at three am, there is a note lying on the coffee table. 'I'm sorry,' it says in Cuddy's handwriting. Underneath, Rachel added: 'Please don't leave without saying goodbye. Wake me up if necessary.'

The photo books are still lying on the table. He sits down on the couch and opens the one holding the school portrait. For minutes, he stares at the picture of his son. When his vision starts to get blurry he sets it down, lies back on the couch and turns off the light.

He hears Cuddy come out of her room after a while, quietly waiting by the door. She does not say anything, though, and he pretends to be asleep.

_Sooo, I guess most of you saw this coming already, and you're not too shocked. Let me know in the comments._

_I tried matching the timeline to when things aired in the series. Bombshells was about 2 months prior to the last episode, and it aired in March, so John would have been born about 9-10 months later. I date his birthday to December 2011. And Rachel was 3 in After Hours, and her birthday was around Christmas, so I dated her birthday to be December 2007._

_Btw, I LOVE yoga with Adriene. If you haven't, yet, go check out her channel on YouTube ;-)_


	15. Chapter 15

_Hi everyone, thanks for all the kind feedback on the last chapter, it really made me happy! Hope you like this one as well._

_I do have several more chapters written, actually. Unfortunately, my beta has been sick and is busy busy busy. If anyone else would like to help out with proofreading, please send me a PM. I could split the work and maybe update a bit faster. _

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 15**

In the next couple of days, House pulls back from both of them. He decides to stay the three weeks he said he would, and they agree on him leaving Sunday morning, but his ease is gone and he cannot help but feel misled and cheated. He focuses mainly on the household chores and tries to avoid Cuddy as much as possible.

On his way to school with Rachel the day after he found out, she tries to break his silence.

"Are you still mad?" she asks cautiously.

He shakes his head.

"Don't you wanna meet him?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Why not?"

She could be as nagging as Cuddy sometimes. "Kids can be annoying." He shoots her a meaningful look. Then he sighs, realizing the inappropriateness of letting his anger out on her. "They bring a lot of responsibility," he reformulates. "I'm not very reliable."

She considers this, but to his relieve she drops the topic.

Cuddy tries to approach the subject later that day as well, but he brushes her off. He is not ready to talk to her.

On Saturday, Cuddy and House both go to Rachel's soccer match to cheer her on: Cuddy because she finally feels up for it again; House because he has shared this part of Rachel's life with her from the start—it is the first thing they did the night after he arrived—and refuses to miss the last chance to see her play.

The situation is extremely awkward, though, and he ends up wishing he had not come. Parents from the other kids keep approaching Cuddy to ask her how she is and tell her how good it is to see her. To some of them Cuddy introduces him as a friend, with others she sidesteps mentioning him. He mostly tries to keep his distance when he sees people walking up to her, and focuses on the game or pulls out his cell phone, pretending to be busy. All the while he feels people staring at them, wondering about the exact relationship between the gimp and the recent window.

After the game, even Rachel's coach comes up to greet Cuddy. "It's so good to see you again, Dr. Cuddy," he says, shaking her hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Sanders. It's good to see you, too," she replies politely. "Guess I didn't bring you much luck, though." She gestures towards the field, referring to the lost game.

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with you," he says with a smile. "We gotta work on our defense."

At that moment, Rachel comes running towards them, showered and ready to go home. House and Rachel do their handshake. "Good tackle out there," House tells her. "Your coach should put you in the forward to score some goals."

"Oh, but we would miss her in the defense and get beat even higher," Coach Sanders replies, winking as well. "Good game, Rache. See you next week." He turns towards Cuddy again to say goodbye. "It's really good to see you back on your feet. Glad you have someone to help you out." He looks at House and gives him an appreciative nod before he leaves. Cuddy briefly glances at House, but he cannot read her expression.

They walk back to the car slowly. "So… Your last night tonight," Cuddy says carefully.

He just nods.

"How about _I_ cook something, for a change? Or we could go out for dinner," she suggests.

"To celebrate a little?" he asks sarcastically.

She tucks her chin. "That's not what I meant." Her voice is quiet.

He knows she is not trying to hurt him, so he consents. "Sure, you cook. What's your mom's best dish, Rache?"

"She does a great vegetable lasagna!" Rachel exclaims, skipping along between them.

"Ugh, that sounds like an oxymoron. How can veggies in a lasagna be a good thing?" He furrows his brows at Rachel as he unlocks the car. He does like the idea, though: He started with lasagna; she ends with one.

"It is really good!" Rachel insists, climbing onto the back seat.

"I guess now I'm going to have to step up to the challenge," Cuddy says, looking at House over the hood of the car. "Prove you wrong."

He just shrugs and they both get in.

That afternoon, House does his own load of laundry and starts to pack. Rachel is doing homework and Cuddy drives to the store to get the ingredients for dinner.

Rachel comes out of her room at some point, declaring that she finished he homework. "Can you drive me to a friend?" she asks House, who is folding his clothes in the living room.

"Sure. Which friend?"

"Um, Chandler," she says, sounding hesitant.

Rachel never mentioned the name before. House is amused. "As in 'The new female friend I made at school this week' or 'A guy I've liked for a while and finally he asked me out to play'?"

She looks down, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

House cannot help but smirk. "Does your mom know this guy?" he asks her.

She shakes her head.

"Then I'm sure there will be lot's of other people present. More girls form your class, for example?"

She gives another shake of the head.

"His parents?"

She rolls her eyes. "I didn't ask. I'm not going to do anything stupid!"

"That's not what I'm worried about," he says. "I know the minds of thirteen-year-old boys. Used to be one. Find out where his parents are! If they're out, it's not my call."

"He's twelve," she sighs, but sits down on the couch and types a message while House keeps on packing.

"They're there," she says. "His brother is, too." She shows House the text she got back.

"His older brother?" House asks, still unconvinced.

"God, I though you were less of a control freak than mom," she complains. "His younger brother."

"And you're sure you like this guy?" he teases her. "He's in sixth grade. He should know by now the difference between _they _apostrophe_ R E_ and _their_."

She just looks at him annoyed.

"All right, come on. But I'm going in with you. Make sure I'm not leaving you with a bunch of crack addicts." He goes to put on his shoes and coat. "Got his address?"

She nods and gets ready herself.

"And I'm picking you up again at seven. You're not leaving me alone with your mom and her veggies."

She chuckles. "Okay," she says, and heads out the door.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

When he gets back to the House, Cuddy is in the kitchen, chopping up something he thinks might be eggplant.

"Where's Rachel?" she asks as he enters.

"Drove her to a friends," he says casually. "Picking her up again at seven. Got everything you need?" He sits down on one of the high chairs at the cooking island.

She nods.

He waits a while and watches her in silence. He has a request, and it takes him some courage to ask. He takes a deep breath. "I want to meet him," he says finally, his voice lowered.

She stops cutting the eggplant and takes a moment. Then she nods slightly. "I thought as much."

"And?" He looks at her expectantly.

She puts down the knife and lifts her head, her eyes meeting his. "I can't make this decision right now," she says slowly, speaking with deliberation. "I need a clear head to think this over. Thoroughly. I'm still recovering from my loss. We all are." She straightens up and sets her shoulders. "I don't know how this would affect John. I mean, he just lost his dad. I doubt this is a good time for us to spring this on him. 'Surprise, here is your father'. It might confuse him even more." She looks uncertain and concerned.

"It can't be a good thing?" he asks. It bothers him that she paints the picture with dark colors only.

"It could be," she says hesitantly, cutting him some slack. "But I just don't know. I am not even sure where John is going to live for the next months. And besides, have you thought this through, yet? You meet him and then what? See him once a year on his birthday? Or do you actually want to get to know him? See him every two weeks?"

He swallows, his eyes cast down. All he knows is that he wants to see his son. He had not thought much beyond that. In his head, his imaginary discussions with Cuddy had revolved around his right to see John.

"And what would that imply for us?" Cuddy continues, moving her hand in the empty space between them. "We have not once talked about what happened in the past. I'm not sure I'm ready to let you back into my life."

"Isn't it a little late for that?" he asks in light of the fact that he just spent three weeks in her home, taking care of her and her daughter.

She gives him a straight look. "I never asked you to come here."

'You did ask me to stay, though', he thinks, but keeps quiet. He breaks their eye contact and looks down at his hands. This is definitely her call, and he knows there is no point in pushing her any further.

"Give me some time to consider all possibilities and consequences," she requests, her voice softer now.

He nods and gets off the chair. "I'm going for a walk," he says, not wanting to be near her anymore.

He heads outside, takes a stroll around the block, and waits in the car until it is time to pick up Rachel.

On his way back home with her, he asks her how it went.

"It was fun." She looks happy. "We played pool. They have a table."

"I'm sure he offered to show you how to play. Was there touching?" House tries carefully.

Rachel smirks, slightly embarrassed.

"Way to score!" He glances over at her, holding up his hand.

She gives him a high-five. "Did you tell mom where I was?"

"Nope. Left that for you." He winks at her.

The evening remains relatively quiet. They eat the lasagna and then watch a movie, popcorn included. Half an hour into the movie, House has to excuse himself, though. His leg is killing him, and he heads for the bathroom to get into the tub.

When he returns, he realizes that they must have paused the movie. Rachel and Cuddy are both in the kitchen, hovering over something on the counter.

Cuddy spots him approaching and holds up her hand to stop him. "Wait by the couch for a second. We'll be ready in a minute."

"Ready with what?" he asks, limping over to the couch.

He watches some TV and hears them whisper quietly. After a while they come over to the couch, carrying a small and sweetly decorated chocolate cake that says THANK YOU in bold, colored letters. They both smile proudly as they hand it to him.

"I baked this when you were out this afternoon," Cuddy says, looking somewhat shy. "I didn't have time for the frosting and thought I'd have to get up early tomorrow, but we took the opportunity…" she explains, stumbling over her words. She looks down at the cake as if she were contemplating whether this had been a good idea, after all.

"I did the letters," Rachel chimes in, sounding proud of her work.

He is generally uncomfortable with such sentiment, but manages to give Rachel a small smile. "Thank you," he mumbles. "You really didn't have to do that."

"Oh, but it's to all our benefit, right? I can have some?!" Rachel asks.

"Rachel!" Cuddy scolds. "House can take it home with him if he wants. It's his cake."

House shoves the plate at Rachel. "Go ahead and cut us all a piece. Only a small one for me, though, gotta keep this body slim and smokin'." He makes a face at her. She smiles and heads towards the kitchen. He turns his gaze toward Cuddy as she sits down next to him. "Make sure your mom gets a big one," he calls after Rachel.

"House," Cuddy starts quietly, turning to face him. "I really appreciate what you did. If it weren't for you, I don't know what—"

"I got it," he interrupts her. "You're welcome. Can we move onto more interesting topics now? Like, how your ass is getting back into its natural shape?"

She looks at him mildly appalled. "Fine, I'll shut up. Is your leg feeling better?"

He nods, giving his leg a quick rub. "Hand me the other remote?!"

She bends sideways to fetch the remote and passes it to him. His hand brushes hers slightly as he takes it, but she does not seem to notice.

Rachel comes over from the kitchen with two plates, handing them to Cuddy and House. "Thank you, honey," Cuddy says as she takes it from her. "Did you put the cake in the fridge?"

"I will." She does and returns with her own plate and three forks.

"All right," says House. "Let's dig into this mountain of sweetness. Ready to continue with the movie?"

They nod, and he presses _play_.

By the time the credits are rolling, Cuddy is asleep, her head resting on House's shoulder. Rachel and House share a look, and she gives him a small smile. She walks around the couch and kisses his cheek. "Good night," she whispers; then she heads off to bed.

House turns off the TV and sits there for few minutes, listening to Cuddy's breath, until she stirs in her sleep and raises her head. "Hm," she exhales, and sits back a bit. "What time is it?" she asks, blinking at him slowly.

"Almost midnight. Rache just went to bed."

She wipes at her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair. "Guess I should do the same."

He nods. "Yeah."

She pauses for a second and looks at him. "You okay?"

He nods again, but she does not get up. They sit in silence for a while as she waits for him to share his thoughts.

"What's he like?" he asks finally, looking down at his hands. He is unsure about the adequacy of his question.

She takes in a deep breath and thinks for a moment, considering her words carefully. When she speaks, her voice is low and warm. "He is sweet and funny. Very considerate and frighteningly smart. He _can_ be a challenge."

"Sounds just like his mother," he says. He means it as a compliment.

She takes it as that and gives him a small, slightly weary smile.

He looks at his leg as he rubs it carefully. "Is he at all…" _like me_, he wants to say, but cannot bring the words over his lips. He is afraid of her answer.

"Yeah," she nods quietly, intuitively picking up what he meant. He expects her to add more to her list of describing John. _Difficult, stubborn, enervating_, but it never comes.

"He reminds me of you often", she adds eventually. From the even tone of her voice he cannot decipher whether she considers this a good thing or not. Maybe it is both.

"Why John?" he asks.

She looks confused for a moment, unsure of what he means. He is about to elaborate when she picks up his trail of thought. "Not because of your father. At least not initially. Rachel actually came up with the name. I think John was a puppy in one of her cartoons." She smiles slightly at the memory. "I always liked the name. And it went well with Cuddy. I welcomed the connection to you. Although I know you were never quite fond of your dad."

He nods and takes a moment before he asks his next question. "Did you consider terminating?" He knows she still had the chance at the time.

She swallows and stares into space, lost in the past. "For an instant, yes. Right after they told me at the hospital. But for less than thirty seconds. When I imagined ending this life, I knew I would never be able to go through with it."

He nods again, not knowing what to say to her. "I'm sorry," he says finally, although he is not sure exactly what he is apologizing for. For her being alone at that moment, for all the painful moments leading up to it, and for all the difficult ones that were to follow.

She looks at him for a long time until she announces that she is going to bed. "Good night, House."

"Good night, Cuddy."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

On Sunday morning, House sleeps in and remains lying on the couch until almost eleven. He has had a restless night: The pain in his leg had increased again, and his mind had refused to shut off. Although he had tried to push the thought away, he could not help but speculate about Cuddy possibly breaking the fragile bond he had been carefully trying to rebuild for the last three weeks. As of this point, she could easily kick him out of her life again, and the idea terrified him. The last six years had been so gruesomely lonely, and his life spirit had been slowly dissipating. He is not sure when exactly it happened—it might not have been one specific moment, after all—but he had resigned from the world; had given up any chance of happiness. His son and the sudden reappearance of Cuddy in his life reignited a spark in him, but he doubts he deserves another chance, and he is too tired to fight.

He has breakfast by himself because Cuddy and Rachel already ate. Afterwards, he packs the rest of his stuff. He is in the living room zipping his bag when Cuddy approaches him. She has been tight-lipped and distant with him all morning, nurturing his fears.

"What do I owe you?" she asks, standing in front of him, holding a pen and her checkbook.

"Ops, I lost all the receipts. I need someone to stuff the holes in my pant pockets," he mocks.

"Approximate," she insists.

"You don't owe me anything. Consider it my alimony." He grabs his jacket and his shoes. He expects her to say more, but she just puts her checkbook back in her purse and walks to the kitchen.

"Don't forget your cake," she says, getting it out of the fridge and searching the cabinets for something she can place it in so it will not get ruined on the drive.

He sits down on the couch to tie his shoes, trying to prepare himself for what he assumes is about to come. She had obviously already made up her mind about his request, and decided against it. She will probably tell him her decision in the last minute before he leaves, giving him less time to protest. She will be polite enough to thank him again for the last three weeks, but then let him know that this was it. She will go on about how she cannot simply forget what happened, and that she wants him out of her life again, period. As he sits there, he fails to come up with good enough reasons to change her mind. He gives up and tells himself that this way might, in fact, be best for everyone involved.

He heads to the car to throw his bag in the trunk. On his return, Cuddy and Rachel are putting on their shoes and coats so they can come outside and wave him off. When Rachel is done dressing, she fetches something from the couch and hands it to him. It is a miniature Brownbeard plush figure. "Mom got it for me when I was little." She grins at him.

"She wouldn't stop crying in the store and threw such a tantrum people actually stopped and offered to buy it for her." Cuddy rolls her eyes.

House closely inspects the little creature, which has an ear missing and is slightly coming apart at the seams. He gives Rachel a tentative smile. "Thanks a lot," he mumbles, feeling touched by the gesture.

Cuddy hands him the box with the cake wordlessly, and they all head out the door. House places both items in the car before walking up to them to say goodbye. Rachel is the first to react, and she gives him a big hug.

"I'm gonna miss you!" she says in her sweet voice, her words slightly muffled by his coat.

"It's been fun!" he agrees, patting her head. "Keep me posted on, you know, school and your _friends_." He pulls back and winks at her.

Cuddy gives them a quizzical look, but refrains form inquiring. She still acts withdrawn and stands there with her arms wrapped around herself protectively. He turns towards her and expects her to finally break her news to him, but she remains silent. Maybe she is afraid he might make a scene in front of Rachel and has decided to just tell him 'No' over the phone. It would be easier for her, anyways, not having to face him.

She makes no move to approach him, so he just stands there and looks at her for a moment. In the last three weeks, she has never actively touched him except for the times at night when she was fighting her nightmares. He assumes she wants no physical contact with him, so he drops the idea of hugging her as well. "So… I guess I'll get going," he mumbles, feeling awkward.

Cuddy merely nods, her lips drawn into a thin line. It seems to him as if she were holding something back, so he waits another beat. When nothing else comes from her, though, he starts to get too uncomfortable to just be standing there. He shrugs his shoulders slightly, turns away from them, and gets into his car.

When he puts his key in the ignition he takes a deep, melancholy breath. He looks at them through his windshield, thinking that this is possibly the last time he sees them. Rachel is waving at him with her right hand; her left hand is wrapped around Cuddy's fingers. When his eyes travel up to Cuddy, he interprets her expression as sad, but thinks that he might as well be projecting. His eyes linger on her a bit longer, and suddenly he realizes what is going on. At first, he does not quite trust his eyes and blinks hard several times. Then he drops his hand from the keys and grabs for his cane.

There are tears running down her face. He kicks himself mentally for having misread her so utterly. Had he not been so self-absorbed and ego-centered all morning, he might have recognized her cold demeanor as a disguise for distress.

He quickly gets out of the car and walks back up to them.

"Did you forget something?" Rachel asks, obviously not having noticed Cuddy's state yet.

House swiftly thinks of an excuse to distract Rachel with. Bending down towards her, he asks: "I didn't grab anything to eat for the drive. You think you can go make me one of your special sandwiches real quick?"

"Of course," she nods and runs back into the house.

Then he turns towards Cuddy, stepping up close to her. "Cuddy…" he whispers gently, unsure about what to say. "Where is this coming from all of a sudden?" He searches her face carefully. "I thought you'd knock back half a bottle of scotch in there. Celebrate a little."

His joke falls flat as she shakes her head slightly, wiping at her cheeks. "I don't know." Her voice is soft and raw. "I guess I didn't quite realize how much I got used to having you here." She smiles weakly through her tears.

Of course him leaving would be difficult for her, he realizes. She would have to take care of everything by herself again. "You're scared," he concludes. "That you'll screw up again."

She nods and swallows down her tears, drawing in her lower lip. "I never thought I'd say this, but you were such a great source of strength. For me and Rachel both." He hears slight disbelief in her voice, but he knows she means it. "I felt save again." Her voice cracks and she finally gives up trying not to cry.

House closes the distance between them as he pulls her into an embrace. He warps both arms around her, his cane dangling in the air behind her back, and holds her tight while she sobs quietly against his chest.

"You'll be fine, Cuddy," he mutters into her ear, one hand stroking up and down her spine slowly.

Her hands are entangled in the front of his coat; the side of her head is pressing against his scarf. "What if I can't handle it?" she whispers, her voice shaking. "What if I start having attacks again?"

He pulls back from her slightly so he can look at her. "Then you call me," he says. He cups her face with one hand and catches a falling tear with his thumb, brushing it away. "So far I haven't made any plans to change my number."

She swallows and nods slightly. They hear the front door open and Rachel's nearing footsteps, so Cuddy lets go of him and gets out a tissue from her coat pocket to wipe her eyes and nose.

"What's going on?" Rachel asks, approaching them cautiously.

House turns towards her while still keeping one arm around Cuddy. "Everything's fine," he tells her. "Your mom's just a little worried that since you've gotten a taste of real food now, you might not want to eat her rabbit fodder anymore."

Rachel looks doubtful, frowning at them both.

He sighs. "She's afraid she might get worse again. I told her to call me in case that happens. And I know that if she won't, you will, right?" he asks her, drawing her close with his other arm.

She nods and looks at Cuddy, still a little concerned.

Cuddy crouches down and pulls her into a hug. "I'm the luckiest mom in the world." She kisses Rachel on the crown of the head. "It'll be okay," she reassures her. "I'm just a little sad that House is leaving."

"But he'll come back to visit!" Rachel exclaims. "Right, House?" she looks up at him.

He just nods slightly. The decision really was up to Cuddy, but he does not want to start a discussion now. "Thanks for the sandwich," he distracts, holding out his hand to Rachel.

She hands it over, and he gives her a pat on the head.

Cuddy stands back up and looks at him.

"Call me?!" he asks her.

She nods and leans into him to share a final hug. "I will."

He does his handshake with Rachel. "Bye, mingy binge rat."

"Bye, you bloody sally wag." They smile at each other.

Then he gets in the car, backs out of the driveway and heads off, watching them wave at him in his rearview mirror.

_All righty, guys. This is the end of Part II. Glad many of you enjoyed the ride so far. Thanks again for all the feedback!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Here is the first chapter of Part III, which is basically just a quick prelude. Hope you like it anyways :-)_

_Thanks for all the wonderful feedback! It is nice to know this story (and all the work I put into it) is being appreciated._

Part III

**Chapter 17**

Two weeks pass by and he does not hear from Cuddy. He texts with Rachel from time to time, and she even calls him occasionally when she is working on an assignment for school and wants his opinion. When they talk he casually inquires about Cuddy's state of wellbeing, and it sounds as if she is doing fine.

He becomes impatient waiting for Cuddy's answer regarding his wish to see John, and has her number on his display on several evenings, but drops his phone on the couch again without dialing. Partly because he thinks that pushing her will only fuel her reluctance, partly because he is afraid of the consequences of their talk—whichever way she decides.

Finally, his phone rings. It is a Saturday morning and he just got out from a bath. His hand is sweaty when he picks up the receiver.

"Hi," is all he manages to get out.

"Hi." He is happy to hear her. For a few seconds they both just breathe into the receiver. "Sorry it took a while. We've been busy." She takes another pause, but he holds back from jumping in. "I just dropped Rachel off at soccer practice."

He tries do decipher from the tone of her voice in which direction the conversation is heading. She sounds relaxed, but her hesitance is irritating him. "How are you?" he finally manages to ask. "Rachel says you're going up on the scale."

"I'm doing okay," she replies quietly. He wonders if she was torturing him deliberately. "It's just been a lot."

"But obviously you found the time to think about my request," he cuts to the point. He needs to know.

"Yeah," she sighs. She takes in a deep breath before she continues. "Rachel and John both had birthdays in December, which we didn't celebrate because… you know why. Rachel insists since now that—"

"I know," he interrupts her. "I helped her with her line of argumentation."

Cuddy is speechless for a couple of seconds. "She already invited you, didn't she?"

House hesitates, realizing that he should have kept his mouth shut. "Let's just say that she mentioned it," he admits.

"I told her to wait." She sounds dismayed and is getting worked up. "See, here we go already. You have no respect for boundaries. You step over every line—"

"Whoa, back off a second," he stops her. "Was there a law stating that I should ignore your daughter? I never even said that I was coming!"

"No, but I know you, and you disregard every rule there is! You stick to no agreements; you boycott any form of discipline… I'd have to deal with three kids who don't listen to me—"

"Maybe that's an indicator for your rules being crap and that you should reconsider them," he quips. He feels his hear sinking. This is not how he hoped the conversation would go.

She sighs into the receiver. "I just highly doubt this is going to work. I talked to Julia and—"

Now it is his turn to take an exasperated sigh. Of course Julia would side against him. "She is hardly the most objective judge, don't you think?"

"No, she's not," she confesses. "But I need to protect my children."

"Protect them from what?" he asks in a raised voice. He is getting upset, desperate to change her mind. He hates having to plead with her like this. "Cuddy, you tell me the terms and I'll follow them to the T. I have no evil agenda to conspire behind your back. I just want to meet my son!" He had not meat to yell, but he cannot control his emotions. His breath is coming out in heavy puffs.

There is a pause on the other end of the line. He rubs his forehead nervously as he waits. Finally, he hears her take in a long breath, ready to declare her verdict. "Fine," she says, sounding doubtful. He knows she is agreeing against her better judgment. "But before anything happens, I want us to see a therapist."

"What?" He raises his head in surprise. "You mean like couples' counseling?"

"I want us to work on our communication," she declares firmly.

"But we're not a couple!"

"No, but we were in a relationship that ended very badly. And I don't want our past affecting our son."

'Our son.' This is the first time she used these words. He feels as if something warm has been placed on his chest; he briefly puts his hand over his heart. With all sarcasm gone from his voice, he tells her: "Cuddy, I'm not angry at you anymore."

"Right, because time heals all things?!" she scoffs doubtfully. "House, you resented me!"

He cannot really argue at that, so he remains quiet. He had hated her. Vehemently. He had loved her, too, which had made it all the crueler.

"You took every opportunity to lash out at me!" she continues. "Our communication was oscillating between nonexistent and toxic, and I need to take some precautions. And besides, it's not just us I want to talk about. You said it yourself: We need an objective opinion. I want an expert advice on what would be best for John."

"And you think some schmendrick who never even met him will know better than you? This isn't an exact science where—"

She cuts him off. "A colleague recommended me a good child therapist. I know that in your worldview, they're all a bunch of hypocrites who secretly crave to still be suckled by their mothers, but they definitely have more experience with children in peculiar situations than either of us."

He looks up at the ceiling and sighs, mildly annoyed. Why was everyone so obsessed with 'talking it all through'?

"These are the terms, House," she says definitively. "One double-session. Take it or leave it."

"Of course I will," he concedes.

"All right." She still sounds uncertain and he thinks that maybe she was hoping he would say no. She pauses before she says: "John will be here for spring break. I'll go pick him up, Julia and her family drive up here at the end of the weak to take him back. Rachel wants to have a big celebration on that weekend."

He is unsure about where she is going with this, so he stays quiet.

"I thought maybe this would be a good occasion for you to meet him." He is glad to hear she actually had considered possibilities of how this could work out. "I mean, he knows you were here for three weeks. We could stick with that story at first, you know, introduce you as a friend, instead of springing this on him strait away. Maybe it'll make the situation less awkward with less pressure?!" she says tentatively. "What do you think?"

He has no idea. "I guess we could."

"Okay. I'll see if I can get an appointment for us before then."

"Text me when and where," he says and hangs up.

_I just realized that all parts so fart start with a call. ^^ Completely unintentional._


	18. Chapter 18

_Here we go, off to (a very long session of) therapy. :-D _

_Due to some of the comments, I actually rewrote the end of this chapter. I like it a lot better now, so thanks for the feedback! _

_Hope you enjoy it! Happy Thanksgiving everyone!_

**Chapter 18**

They meet in the parking lot of the building complex in which the recommended therapist has her practice. House arrives there early because he was afraid he would hit traffic, and gets out of his car when he sees her pull into the parking lot five minutes before their appointment.

His palms are slightly sweaty and he cannot stop moving his left hand. He had not anticipated the happiness that floods him as he watches her step out of the car and approach him.

"Hey," she smiles vaguely at him, stopping a few feet in front of him. She, too, seems nervous, and is unsure about how to approach him. "How was the drive?"

"Smooth as the hum of my imaginary Ferrari," he nods once, and takes his time to inspect her closely. "Which I'd definitely try to pick you up in." He exaggerates leering at her. "You look good," he mumbles earnestly, and he means it. She is shining again, the colors having returned to her eyes and lips and skin. Her cheekbones are still protruding, but her cheeks are less hollow compared to the last time he saw her. The sparkle in her eyes is dimmed, but he can see it again, and it eases away some of his tension.

His comment erases her uneasiness, and her smile brightens. "Thank you. I do feel much better." She glances at her watch. "We should get going." She looks around, trying to make out which way they need to head.

"It's over there," he points out with his cane, walking in the direction of a tall brick building with many nameplates next to the entrance door. "I've been here a while. Checked out the people going in an coming out, trying to guess which ones needed the brain doctor."

"And? How high do you figure was your success rate?" she asks, walking alongside him.

"A hundred percent, of course. As it turned out, all of them did."

She chuckles.

He holds the door for her as they make their way inside the building, getting into an elevator that takes them to the top floor. They step into a little waiting room area supplied with a water tank, magazines, and a play area stuffed with toys.

"She said she'd come out when she's ready," Cuddy informs him, taking off her coat and sitting down in one of the armchairs.

"You're nervous," he states, filling two glasses with water.

"No," she denies a bit too defensively. As he hands her a glass he looks at her probingly, and she caves. "Yes, I'm nervous."

He shrugs out of his jacket and sits down on a sofa across from her. "Afraid I'll declare her incompetent after two minutes, insult her, and get her to the point where she actually calls for her own therapist?"

Cuddy takes a sip from her water and glances at him briefly. He knows this was at least one of the scenarios that played in her head regarding the possible outcomes of this meeting.

"Don't worry. I've gotten better at not letting all my thoughts travel to my mouth." He takes a gulp of water. "Didn't you notice me _not_ commenting on your tight blouse, which really complements your breasts?"

She shoots him an annoyed look.

"Oops, just when I was doing so well," he says with mock disappointment at his indecency.

At that point, the door to the practice opens, and out step a little boy and a woman who appears to be his mother. House is surprised to see that both the mom and the kid seem to have been having a good time in there.

"I'll see you next week, Tyler," says Helen Maldon, the therapist, who comes into view next. She stops in the doorway to see her client off.

"Okay, bye." The little boy waves at her.

"Thanks, Helen, see you next week," says his mother, who nods at House and Cuddy courtly as she makes her way to the elevator.

Helen waves at them before she directs her attention to her next clients. "Hi," she smiles. "You must be Lisa Cuddy," she turns toward Cuddy, who rises up from the chair and shakes Helen's hand.

"Yes, we spoke on the phone. Thanks for taking the time for us."

"You're welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you in person." Helen smiles, then turns toward House.

He also shakes her hand. "Greg House." She has a relaxed but grounded presence that almost intimidates him, which is a good sign: He does not dismiss her straight away.

"Helen Maldon. I appreciate you coming all the way out here." She gestures for them to enter. "Why don't you go ahead take a seat?"

He is relieved when he finds no couch inside. The room is bright, with a large window front facing the shore. The furniture is simple and kept in light colors. The seating area in the middle of the room consists of four comfortable armchairs surrounding a small wooden coffee table with glasses and a water carafe on top.

Helen offers them the two armchairs next to each other facing the windows, and sits down in one opposite them. "I'm usually on a first name basis with my clients. Is it okay if I call you Lisa and Greg?"

He hates people using that first-name trick to create a fake feeling of closeness. "Mind if I call you Mrs. Freud?" he asks.

Cuddy gives him a look.

"Sorry, thought this was a 'How can we make each other uncomfortable contest'. I'm very competitive by nature," he quips.

"Of course it's okay," Cuddy declares, dipping into her unlimited reserve of politeness. He knows that she, too, dislikes this form of hypocrisy.

"Good," Helen continues, seemingly unfazed. "We have a double-session, that's two times fifty minutes. We'll take a short break in between, whenever it fits in, to regroup ourselves, and perhaps go to the bathroom or a walk around the block."

They both nod. Helen turns toward House. "Lisa told me over the phone that you only found out recently about your son, and you're both here today because you consider meeting him for the first time."

Again, House just nods. His mouth feels dry.

"She also told me the two of you haven't been in touch since he was conceived." She looks over at Cuddy. "How old did you say he was?"

"He turned eight in December."

"Right. What I'd like to start with today is to hear a little bit about your history. So that I get an idea about the type of connection you have with each other. Just a brief recapitulation of the major events, like when you met, how your relationship evolved, and when and how it ended. Greg," she addresses House, "would you like to start?"

He looks at Helen, slightly startled. Somehow he had expected Cuddy to do most oft he talking.

Helen waits and fills three glasses with water. "Try to be as objective as possible. Like a quick recap on a TV show. 'Previously on Lisa and Greg'," she mimics the voice of an announcer and smiles at her own silliness.

House gives Cuddy a quick glance, and she looks back at him, barely managing to maintain a straight face.

"All right," he says, taking a sip from his water. "The first time we met was in med school, University of Minnesota," he starts, and gives Helen a brief summary of their first encounter, the infarction in his leg, the time he worked under Cuddy at PPTH, and ends with the few months in which they dated, their break-up, and his car stunt.

By the time he finishes he feels like shit. He knew beforehand that he would look like the asshole who did not deserve to even see his kid from a distance, let alone be part of his life. His voice had gotten smaller and smaller towards the end, and he cannot continue any further. He sits there and looks down at the ground.

He expects some form of reaction to what he did, some form of judgment. The question of whether he apologized or feels bad for his actions, but Helen just waits a moment and then says in a neutral tone: "Thank you, Greg. Lisa, do you have anything to add thus far?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cuddy shake her head.

"All right, would you like to resume, Lisa? What happened after Greg drove his car into your house? When was the first time you spoke to each other again?"

Cuddy clears her throat and glances at House briefly before she continues with the events of finding out about her pregnancy, moving away, and how her husband's illness had ended up in her consulting House. "My husband died in November last year," she says sadly, looking down at the wedding band on her finger.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," Helen offers.

Cuddy gives a brief nod. "I wasn't coping very well with the loss," she states, twiddling her hands. "I had John at my sister's, where he still is right now, so he wouldn't have to witness all the stress. And because I couldn't manage it all. I went back to work in January, but needed pills in order to function. Sleeping pills, anti-anxiety, anti-depressants…" House looks at her and sees the shame in her face. "I was so embarrassed I didn't even manage to ask for help. My daughter, bless her heart, had the idea to call House. And he came." She looks over at him, her expression carrying so many emotions he cannot pinpoint the predominant one.

She breaks the brief eye contact with him and looks back at Helen. "He helped out. With pretty much everything. Made sure I ate, stopped with the pills, slept through the night… He was basically Rachel's private chauffeur, her tutor…"

"And during that time you told him about John?" asks Helen.

"No. I am not sure how exactly it happened. I got home one night, and he and Rachel somehow must have ended up talking about it. When I saw the old photo books of John lying around on the coffee table, I knew he'd figured it out."

"I see," Helen nods. "Greg, what was your reaction to these news?"

House takes a moment and shifts in his seat. He leans forward, resting his hands on his thighs. "I got angry," he starts, but Helen interrupts him.

"Try to remain objective," she prompts.

House sighs, slightly annoyed. "I am pretty sure everyone who was in the room would agree with me that I got angry."

She nods briefly and gives him a moment. "Let me be more specific. By _objective_ I mean only describe what is directly observable. As if you were seeing yourself as a spectator. People witnessing the same situation generally interpret emotions differently. Reiterations of actions and words produce more overlap."

He has no idea how this is important, but he takes a couple of breaths and makes an effort to follow her instructions. "I left. I think I might have yelled. At Cuddy. When she tried to stop me." He looks at his hands. "I got in the car, drove a few miles. Too fast. I stopped at a deserted parking place and just… I don't know, started banging my head. Cuddy got into the car at that point—I hadn't noticed her following me—and tried to stop me. I pushed her against the seat before I realized it was her. We talked briefly. Then I told her to get out. I stayed in the car for a while, drove around, and eventually went back."

"Were there other times you were physically violent against Lisa?" Helen asks, still keeping a neutral voice.

House briefly glances at Cuddy who has her eyes cast down. "One time." He swallows hard. "The day I parked my car in her dinging room." He hates to think about this, but Helen looks at him expectantly, encouraging him to elaborate. "I grabbed her arm, pushed her against a wall at the hospital."

"What happened before that?" Helen inquires.

"Same thing that's happening now. She wouldn't let it go."

One corner of Helen's mouth turns up. "Let what go?"

He sighs. "She wanted to talk. About our break-up, about things going wrong in my life… We had had lunch in the cafeteria, I got up and left, she got in my way, I told her to leave me alone, she wouldn't."

"I see." Helen nods and thinks for a moment. "There are two important aspects I would like to point out to you. The first one is the parallel, do you see it?" she asks, looking back and forth between House and Cuddy. "Your dynamic when a difficult personal issue comes up?"

"He scrambles, I nag?" Cuddy suggests.

Helen makes an affirmative sound. "Let's go back to that first incident, the one after your break-up." She turns towards House and he thinks that the time for her reprimand has arrived, but again, she surprises him. "During that time, what did you need, really, from Lisa, that would have made it easier for you to cope with the situation?"

He has to think about this for a while. His first thought is that nothing would have made a difference; nothing would have made it any less painful for him. He rubs his leg absentmindedly, feeling lost.

Helen helps him out. "If that's too hard, think of your best friend being heartbroken about the end of a relationship. What would be your advice to him on how to deal with his ex?"

House's first impulse is to tell her that his only friend is dead and that she should shut the hell up, but he feels Cuddy's concerned glance at him, and he stops himself. "I'd tell him to tell her to fuck off, leave him alone. Shut her out of his life, at least as long as it takes for him to hit it with someone else."

"Okay," Helen nods, maintaining her calm and understanding expression.

"What about you, Lisa?" she looks at Cuddy. "What was your need in that situation, regarding Greg?"

Cuddy seems slightly perplexed. "I'm not sure what you mean. I was the one who ended the relationship. There is nothing I needed from him."

"I am not necessarily talking about something you needed _from_ him. If I understood correctly, you still had a working relationship; you were still part of each other's lives," Helen elaborates. "What was your primary need or motive during that time?"

Cuddy thinks for a while, playing with her bracelet. "I tried to find a way to at least be civil. I switched my behavior from distant, to lenient, to strict, to friendly, to bossy… I felt guilty and tried to figure out how to make the situation more bearable for him. I didn't want him to be miserable."

"All right," Helen smiles at them tenderly. "Let's try to put the two together. Greg, you needed distance. And you, Lisa, wanted to help. Can you combine the two and find a solution that would have been best for both of you?"

House shakes his head. "She was my boss. We saw each other every day." He scratches his head. "I guess I could have started looking for another job, but drugs, booze and hookers were higher up on the list that kept me busy."

Helen just waits patiently and looks at Cuddy.

"Maybe we could have figured something out," Cuddy says tentatively. "Made sure we wouldn't cross each other's paths in the hospital, have Foreman supervise you for a while… I don't know."

House just sits there and shrugs. He cannot see the point in discussing the possibility of hypothetical solutions. What happened was unchangeably stuck in the past.

"What I am trying to demonstrate to you is when and how miscommunication occurs," says Helen. "Namely at the point where you don't share your needs with each other. Sharing needs and motives sets the basis for a well functioning relationship—whichever form of relationship that is."

She looks back and forth between them. "The difficult parts of putting this into practice are, first of all, to actually be aware of your own underlying motive or need. The second, and probably greater challenge, is to voice that need to the other person. Unfortunately, most of us did not have a perfect childhood and learned, early on, that articulating our wants and needs can become a disadvantage. Because it gives other people, like our parents, power over us. They can take away something we like in order to punish us, and so on, which is basically a mild form of abuse. To stop this, we learn to keep our needs to ourselves; we learn to feign, and we learn to manipulate."

Cuddy and Hose share a quick, meaningful glance.

"So, the most important factor for a functioning communication is to trust the other person with the information we share about our true needs, fears, and motives," Helen continues. "The essential question now is whether both of you still have that trust."

The room is quiet and for a moment all they hear is the traffic, birds chirping, and their own breaths. House glances over at Cuddy, a questioning look on his face. She seems contemplative. At some point she swallows, looks over at him and gives a brief nod. He takes a relieved breath and nods back at her.

"Good," Helen exclaims. "I want you to look at each other and actually say it."

"Wow. I didn't anticipate to be making vows today," House quips. He feels awkward about this.

"Lisa, would you like to go first?" Helen ignores his comment.

Cuddy looks at her with a frown and hesitates. Then she takes in a deep breath and turns her head in his direction. All he sees is the crystal blue of her eyes. Quietly, she says: "I trust you not to take advantage of my fears."

He nods and has to break eye contact with her for a brief moment. This is difficult for him, and it takes him several internal attempts before he can make the leap of faith. Finally, he looks back at her again. "I trust you not to use my fears against me."

They all take a deep breath and sit back in their chairs.

"Wonderful!" Helen is clearly pleased.

"What was the second point?" House asks.

Helen thinks for a moment and then smiles at him, approving of his attention. "You acted differently this time, when you found out about your son. You managed to convey to Lisa that you needed her to get out of the car. You were more in control of the situation and your behavior after having received some very upsetting news."

House looks at her, contemplating her words. Looking back on that night, he had a hard time finding any positive sides to it. He had not felt as if he had been in control of the situation. But maybe Helen was right: Maybe he had changed. It definitely could have ended worse than it did.

"All righty," Helen says, rubbing her palms together. "Maybe let's take a quick break and picking it up from here we talk about your concerns regarding your first encounter with John."

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"So, how do you plan on meeting John?" Helen asks after they all sit back down. "Try to name your central need or motive for that situation. If you cannot quite name it, think of the biggest fear you have."

"My biggest concern is that House will undermine my authority as a parent," Cuddy states. "That he'll suggest things to the kids he knows I'm not okay with. And that he won't stick to agreements."

"Okay, thank you Lisa," says Helen. "What about you, Greg?"

House shrugs. "I guess my biggest fear is that he'll reject me."

"That's understandable," Helen nods. "Can you also formulate a concern that involves Lisa?"

He thinks for a moment. "That she doesn't truly want this to go well. That she'll boycott it, if only subconsciously."

"What?" Cuddy looks at him, slightly aghast. "Why would you think that?"

Helen holds up her hand to stop Cuddy, which House is grateful for. "Fears are always valid! Try not to take them personally, Lisa. There's no need for Greg to justify himself." Turning towards House, she says: "Thank you for openly sharing this with us." She folds her hands in her lap. "All right, now let me try and rephrase what you just said. Feel free to correct me if you don't fully agree. So, Lisa's need for you, Greg, is to grant her control over decisions that concern her kids." She looks at Cuddy, who gives her a nod. "Greg, in turn, needs assertion that you support him in making a connection with his son." She says this last sentence to Cuddy, and then turns her head towards House, wordlessly asking for his confirmation.

He exhales and nods.

"So based on this, can you find a common goal?" Helen asks them.

"If he respects me and my decisions as a parent, there is no reason for me to be against it," Cuddy says contemplatively.

"Hm." Helen considers this. "How about not turning this into a condition and making your behavior dependent on his. Let's see if we can find independent handlings. Or a mutual agreement."

"We can check in with each other regularly, make sure we're on the same page." He looks at Cuddy. "I _can_ stick to my word. When it's important."

"What's important to me is not necessarily important to you," Cuddy retorts.

"It's important to me that we make this work. Ergo, what's important to you is important to me."

Cuddy still seems slightly unconvinced, but she visibly relaxes.

Helen looks pleased. "Good. Make sure to remind yourselves and each other of this agreement before you all get together."

Cuddy focuses on Helen. "How should we best go on about this? I was thinking to first introduce House as a friend, have him attend Rachel's and John's birthday party, but maybe it would be better if I told John beforehand? Or we had less people around?"

Helen drinks some water and seems indecisive. "There is no real golden standard to this. It can work well either way. What's important is that you feel comfortable. If you think not telling John beforehand and having more people around will take off some pressure, I say go ahead and do that."

Cuddy looks doubtful.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Helen encourages them. "What I'm seeing here are two people who know each other really well. On top of that, there is actually a lot of communication going on between the two of you. You are constantly checking in with each other. You talk without words, share an internal laugh about the nut-head of a shrink sitting in front of you…" House and Cuddy both smile vaguely. "If you can keep this up in what's to come, I don't really see a problem. You will notice when the other is getting uncomfortable. If that happens, try to help each other out, have each other's back. Your nervousness will actually decrease when you shift the focus away from yourselves and onto the other."

They are all quiet for a while, House and Cuddy both lost in thought.

Helen continues: "You see, when you are both relaxed and calm, your state of mind will transfer to John. This particularly concerns you, Lisa. You are his mother; he has known you all his life. He'll pick up on how you feel about the whole situation, and how you feel towards Greg. Children sense animosity between people. When you're both at ease, especially with each other, you will have an open antenna for your son, and will be able to help him deal with whatever concern he has."

"It sounds so easy when you say it," Cuddy mumbles. She seems much less enthusiastic than Helen.

Helen smiles understandingly. "Believe me, I know it's not. It takes quite some practice. But you two definitely got a head start. Plus, when you realize at some point things aren't going in the right direction, you can always take a short break, regroup yourselves, refocus on putting what we just discussed into practice."

"What do you mean by _take a break_?" House inquires. "There'll be many people. We cannot just leave."

"That doesn't mean there is no room for you to talk to each other. In advance, decide on where you can go to have a quiet moment. Establish a silent emergency code, like pulling on your ear, or just simply ask: _Can I talk to you for a second_."

They look at each other and nod, some of the tension falling off them. They both drink from their glasses and sit back in their seats.

"All right." Helen exhales, her face turning more serious again. "One last thing I would like to make you aware of, and what I am, in fact, slightly concerned about, is the hurt you are both still carrying."

Cuddy and House look at her expectantly, their eyebrows raised.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but from what I understood you never fully processed the aftermath of your break-up."

They both swallow and avert their eyes.

"We do not have time to go into detail about this today," Helen goes on, "but I'm worried that your unresolved pain will consciously or unconsciously compromise your actions, even if you have the best intentions to make this work." She takes a sip of water and lets this sink in.

"And what would be your advice on that?" Cuddy asks.

"Try to be honest and observant of yourselves. Keep questioning your motives behind your actions, or whether the feelings of anger and betrayal resurface frequently. If it does, I suggest you both work on that with a therapist. Either separately or jointly. Jointly would be better."

"Okay," Cuddy nods. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome." Helen smiles at both of them. "Is there anything else you feel unprepared for? Do you have any more questions you would like to ask me?"

House shakes his head.

"I think I asked all of mine," says Cuddy.

"All right then," Helen gets up from her chair. "If anything comes up, feel free to call me. If I don't answer straight away, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."

Cuddy and House both stand up. "We will. Thank you." Cuddy approaches Helen to shake her hand.

"It was a pleasure to meet you," says Helen.

House limps up after Cuddy and shakes Helen's hand as well. "Not that I had any expectations, but this was more helpful than I thought."

She grins at him. "Giving compliments a bad touch turns them into roses with thorns."

"You don't like roses?" he asks.

"I prefer sunflowers," she banters.

"Of course you do." He gives her a small smirk. "Thank you. _Helen_."

"You're welcome, and it was a pleasure meeting you, Greg."

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They walk back to Cuddy's car in silence.

"So, you wanna tell me what is really going on?" House asks as they stop and turn to face each other.

"What do you mean?"

"Your goddamn reluctance to let me see him. Is there anything else you haven't told me? Did you actually have quadruplets and gave the other three away?"

She leans against the side of her car, her posture slightly sinking in. "No." Her face crumbles. "I'm just scared."

"Scared of what?" He needs to know her true motive. "This can't seriously be about me meddling a little with your parenting."

"I just…" Cuddy sighs and rubs her forehead. "We blew _us_ up so many times. And I'm so tired; I don't think I can go another round. I can't take any more punches."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "So now I'm pummeling you?" He cannot believe what he is hearing. In the last weeks he has been exceedingly careful with her.

"House, you know exactly how to hurt me. And when you're angry, you don't pull your punches."

He is still not sure what she is talking about. "Is this about the past? I thought we were talking about how we can make this work _now_. In there, you said you trust—"

"I lied," she interrupts him. She takes in a deep breath, a sincere expression on her face. "I promised myself I would never give you the opportunity to hurt me again. What does it say about my self worth if I just go ahead and ignore that now?"

He sighs. "I'm not asking to be part of your life again, I'm asking to meet our son."

"My children are my life! That's inseparable! How should I compartmentalize that?"

He looks at his cane, not knowing what to say. He knows he hurt her. He was unaware of her being this resentful, though. "I was right, then. You don't really want this to work."

She swallows and tucks her chin. Suddenly, tears start forming in her eyes. "Part of me does," she whispers. "Part of me wishes that this will work."

"And the other part is convinced I'll blow this up again," he figures.

"I'm just tired of hoping." Her first tears start to fall, and she casts her eyes down, focusing on his chest. "Do you have any idea what it is like when a person you love, who you deeply care for, who you protected, at all costs, for a long time… when that person deliberately threatens your life?" She looks at him intently now, tears streaming down her face. "You were one of the most important people in my life. Top five! Even despite everything. The one person in the world who knew me, really knew me." She pulls in her lower lip to stop it from quivering. Her sorrow is written all over her face. "And you could have killed me. Hell, you would have killed us both!" Her hand briefly flutters to her abdomen where John had been, merely a few weeks old, when it all happened. "And now you're asking me to open the door for you again?! To let you into our lives?!" Her voice is shaking, and she is struggling to get the words out. "It's just not that simple," she breathes. She turns her head away and stares into the distance.

He looks at her profile while he tries to come up with something to say. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. And, obviously, I've used up all my chances with you." He feels awful and wishes that somehow he could make it up to her. But he needs to be in her life in order to do that. "But do you really want to deny me the chance to meet my son?"

"No." She shakes her head and wipes the tears from her checks. "Of course not. Which is why I'm here. I'm not saying I don't want you to come."

He searches her face. "Helen was right on one thing. This isn't gonna work as long as you hate me."

"I don't hate you." She sniffs her nose and rummages through her purse in search for a tissue. He looks at her doubtfully while she blows her nose. "And I'm not going to sabotage it. I want this to go well, let alone for John's sake."

He nods, not quite convinced about her words.

"I'm going home." She tugs her keys from her purse. "Do you want to come back to the house for a while, say hi to Rachel?" He appreciates her effort to end this on a good note, but her offer sounds insincere.

"I gotta get back to the hospital. Got a case," he lies. "I'll call Rachel from the car. Check in with her."

"Okay." She nods and plays with the keys in her hand. "I'll, uh, text you the details about the party."

They are as uncertain about their goodbye as they were about their hello.

"Yeah." He gives her a nod and turns away, slowly making his way to his car.


	19. Chapter 19

_Thanks for all the nice feedback, everyone!_

_Done with therapy, House finally meets John in this chapter. I worked a lot on this, and hope you like how it goes._

_Btw, if anyone was wondering about the timeline, the story started sometime in 2019, and this chapter plays in April 2020. I actually looked up the 19/20 school year dates for Princeton on the publicholidays website, so __they should be correct._

_Have fun! _

**Chapter 19**

He is in the car driving up to New Haven. It is Saturday morning, April 11th, the day of the birthday party. Julia and her family, except for their eldest who has more pressing teenage business to do than attend her little cousins' birthday party, already arrived yesterday. One reason was so that Julia could help with preparations; the other was that she, her family and John have to return to Princeton after the party.

He called Cuddy the previous weekend to ask her about potential gifts for John and Rachel. She told him that he knew Rachel and could come up with something himself, and that she would text him John's wish list. By the end of their conversation, she offered him to spend the night from Saturday to Sunday—the house would be practically empty—so that he would not have to drive back and forth on the same day. He appreciated the gesture, but declined. Should he or his leg not be up to the long car ride tonight, he plans to crash at a hotel somewhere. He packed his toothbrush and a change of clothes.

It rains intermittently on his way up, and by the time he arrives at their house he feels anxious and self-conscious. His doubts have quadrupled themselves during the ride, and now that he finds himself only mere feet away from John, he thinks that this whole enterprise is insane. He sits in the car for a while and actually considers simply turning around and leaving again when he receives a text from Rachel, asking him for his whereabouts. He rubs his forehead, picks up his cane and the presents from the passenger seat, and gets out of the car.

He can hear the noisy chatter and laughter inside when he stands at the front door, his knees feeling weak. Taking a deep breath, he rings the bell.

To his relief, Rachel opens up, and the first thing he sees is her smiling face. "House!" she exclaims and practically jumps on him, her arms wrapping around his waist and her face burying into his jacket.

"Hey there, butt-munch," he smiles as he slightly pats her shoulder with his hand.

She draws back and sees the presents he is carrying. One is big and wrapped in bright pink. "Is that for me?" she asks, taking it from him already.

"Well, obviously."

"Come in," she demands, pulling on his hand. He manages to close the door behind him before he limps inside, following Rachel's lead.

"John," she calls out across the room. "House is here."

The place is filled with a vast number of children and adults, but it takes House mere seconds to spot a small boy by the television set turning toward them. He swallows hard and has to remind himself to breathe as his son makes his way across the room to greet him.

House momentarily looses his voice and is thankful that Rachel takes over: "I told you he was here two months ago. He helped me build the rollercoaster," she introduces him to her brother.

"Hi, I'm John," he says, holding out his hand to House.

House manages to rid himself of his paralysis. "Hi," he mutters, shifting his cane into his left hand so he can shake hands with John.

"What do you need the cane for?" John asks frankly.

"He hurt his leg, silly," Rachel chides while she fights with the wrapping paper of her present.

"Can't the doctors fix it?" John continues his inquiry.

"No," House presses out. "Cannot fix everything. Unfortunately."

"They couldn't fix my dad, either," John says, nodding understandingly.

House is not sure Cuddy informed John that he was one of those failing doctors, so he drops the topic. He scratches his chin, realizing he is still holding John's present. "Here," he says, handing it to him. "This is for you. Happy late birthday."

Rachel finally manages to undo the wrapping. "A pink soccer ball! How cool is that!" She gives House another hug.

"And pink soccer socks," he points out. She must have missed them somewhere in the pile of wrapping.

"Cool!" She dives back into the remnants of her present and finds them. "Thank you so much!"

John chimes into thanking him when he sees what House got for him. House picked a PlayStation racecar game from the list Cuddy sent him. It seemed like the safest choice. In that moment, he actually feels her eyes on him, and he looks up. She is standing by the kitchen isle with a drink in her hand, observing the whole situation. When he meets her gaze, she sets down her glass and makes her way over to them.

"Hi," she smiles at him, genuinely pleased to see him, and moves in to give him a hug. "Seemed like a good start," she whispers into his ear in the brief moment she has her arms around his neck. She acts less restrained than the last time they met, and apparently decided to stick to her word of trying to make this a good experience.

"Look Mom, it's the new game I wanted," John tugs on her arm excitedly, showing her his latest present.

"That's great, honey!" Cuddy ruffles his hair.

"How did you know?" John asks House.

"Your mom might have mentioned it," he winks at him.

"Thank you," John says. "Can I go play it?" he asks Cuddy.

"Of course, go ahead."

John runs back over to his friends by the television where a gaming area is set up.

"Look what I got," Rachel eagerly presents her soccer ball and her new socks to Cuddy.

"Wow! You should go show your coach, he will be thrilled." She smiles at Rachel who runs off. House sees coach Sanders sitting at the dining table, a plateful of vegetables and crackers in front of him.

Cuddy turns to House, an amused expression on her face. "They were all over you," she chuckles mildly. "Can I take your jacket?"

"Yeah," he mumbles as he starts to shrug out of it. He scans the room and finds Julia watching him with reproachful eyes. "What should I do about your sister?" he asks while she puts his jacket away. "She would like to wrap her hands around my throat."

"She promised she'd be civil." Cuddy stands next to him and eyes her sister as well. "Maybe keep a twenty feet distance at all times, safety precautions," she suggests, half in jest, half in earnest.

He nods.

"You want some cake? Something to drink?" she offers as they make their way towards the kitchen counter, which is loaded with snacks, sweets, cake, and beverages.

"I'm a big boy," he says, limping along beside her. "Go mingle."

She gives him a brief, questioning glance, wordlessly asking him if he is sure and if he is okay, but he keeps a straight face, and they part ways: She returns to the group of people she was talking to when he arrived; he heads for a cup and a plate.

With his drink balanced on on his plate, House limps over to Coach Sanders, who greets him happily. "Come here, sit." Coach Sanders pulls back a chair next to him, and introduces House to his wife, who is sitting across the table. From where House is seated, he has a good view over the living room, where John is taking turns with his friends on the PlayStation. While he eats, he chats with the coach and his wife, and occasionally glances over to observe John. He ducks all their inquiries about his private live, and bombs them with questions instead, eager to keep them talking. Their two sons are here as well; one of them is about John's age.

When they announce that they have to leave, he panics a bit. They are the only people he knows here besides Cuddy and her folks, and Cuddy is busy buzzing around the room, making sure everyone is fed, no kid gets hurt, and nothing gets broken.

He decides to sit closer to John and walks over to the couch, taking up an empty seat. To his surprise, John at some point offers a control panel to him, asking if he wants to play. House hesitates for a second, but then nods and takes it from him. "All right. I will beat their butts, though," he says, gesturing towards his opponents.

John just laughs and presses the _Start_ button.

House, of course, had prepared himself for this occasion and had bought the game for himself, practicing it at home a little. He had even gone online and checked the gaming communities for information about where to take short cuts and how to gain extra speed. As intended, John is impressed by his skill. "How did you do that?" he asks, when House rather flies than drives across a patch of water that slows down all the others.

House explains it to him happily, and hands him back the control after he crosses the finish line as first runner up. "Your turn! Now you beat 'em."

He sits there for a while and gives John occasional advice, cheering him on. He feels Cuddy glancing at him from time to time, but she seems at ease and lets them be. He eventually tells John that he has to go to the bathroom. The one by the front door is occupied, so he heads into the main bathroom, relieved for the solitude when he locks the door behind him.

He takes a piss and notices that his hands are shaking when he washes them under the faucet. His leg is hurting and he wishes he could leave. He feels uncomfortable with so many people in general, even more so when he hardly knows anyone; even more so when most of them are noisy kids; even more so when one of them is his son and he is meeting him for the first time. He has no idea why he had agreed to this idiocy so blindly.

He splashes some water on his face and suddenly feels short of breath, too overwhelmed with everything, and wants to hide, preferably his car, but Rachel or Cuddy might catch him walking out the door. He unlocks the bathroom door leading out to the hallway, but sneaks through the one on the opposite wall, heading into Cuddy's bedroom.

He sits on the carpet by the side of the bed with his legs out long, leaning his back against the mattress. It takes him a while before he catches his breath again. His leg is killing him, and he rubs it carefully.

After about fifteen minutes, there is a tentative knock on the door. He stays quiet, not knowing what to say. It opens slowly, revealing Cuddy on the other side. "I've been looking all over for you," she says as she steps into the room. "Is everything all right?" She sounds concerned.

"Yeah. It's just my leg. And…" House is unsure how to articulate what is going on, and motions with his head towards the muted partying crowd.

Cuddy closes the door and steps closer. "A lot to process?" she offers. He nods, and she slides down on the carpet next to him. She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her cheek on top, looking at him sideways. "So, what do you think?"

He looks back at her, not quite sure what she is asking. He has so many thoughts. "He's great," he eventually picks one.

Cuddy smiles at him. "Yeah. He is."

House stares at his leg and continues to rub it. It all just feels so odd to him. To have a son of that age. To know that he is, in part, him, but to share no other connection with him whatsoever.

Suddenly, Cuddy takes his hand. He looks at her, surprised at the gesture. She says nothing, and simply returns his gaze.

He swallows and realizes that, for the time being, she actually provides the emotional bridge to his son. He has so many feelings for her, and she is John's mother; she is the one who raised him. His breath deepens a little. He squeezes her hand. "Thank you," he mumbles. "For letting me meet him."

She draws in her lower lip, and he sees a tear escape the corner of her eye and trail its way over the bridge of her nose. He is not exactly sure why she is crying, but this is obviously a lot for her to process as well.

"I think I should get back," she says, letting go of his hand and wiping away her tears. "The host should never be gone more than ten minutes, right?" She supports herself on the bed to rise back up onto her feet. "Take as much time as you need."

He nods and she knocks on the bathroom door to make sure no one is in there before she heads out.

A little after five, he feels ready to face the world again. He hears quite a few people leave, and guesses that the invitation read from twelve to five. House fetches himself some water and sits down on one of the bar stools in the kitchen, observing the scene.

Cuddy hands out coats to the guests and asks if they want to take home some cake. She thanks everyone before they head out the door and makes sure both John and Rachel say goodbye as well. Julia and her family are packing their things in the kids' bedrooms. They had spent the night there: Julia and Bill in one room, and all four kids sharing the other.

House presumes he should leave as well, so he goes in search for his jacket. Rachel spots him by the front door and walks up behind him. "House! Where were you?" she inquires, but receives no response. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for my jacket. Have you seen it?"

She takes him by the hand, requesting his full attention. "You disappeared all of a sudden. I didn't even get to show you all my presents, yet," she says, pulling him along with her to the coffee table, which has been set aside against the wall, serving as the gift table.

He sighs briefly. He is afraid he might overstep his welcome, although Cuddy showed no sign of wanting him out of the house thus far. "All right, show me what you got," he says as he sits down on the couch again. John has returned to his PlayStation, and seems oblivious to everything going on around him.

House lets Rachel present her new clothes, games, and accessories to him, sometimes giving his comments or asking her whom they were from. Cuddy is busy packing for John and runs back and forth between his room and the living room, asking him questions such as where he put his slippers, which of his books he wants to take, and whether he needs more T-shirts.

Distracted from his game, John eventually joins in with House and points out which of Rachel's new belongings he finds especially silly or entertaining. Enthralled by House's attention and wanting some for himself, John decides to show off his gifts as well when he realizes they have already been packed into Bill's car or stored away in his room. His cousins and his aunt and uncle are outside, loading the trunk and getting ready to head off.

John sits on the couch with his shoulders slumped.

"Don't forget to take your new game," House tries to cheer him up, nodding towards the PlayStation.

John just looks at his hands and swallows hard. Suddenly, tears start to roll down his cheeks.

House stares at him, completely perplexed—he had not seen this coming. "Cuddy?" he calls out, not knowing how to handle the situation.

Rachel walks up to her brother. "You can play with your stuff at aunt Julia's, you know? The rest will be here when you get back."

Cuddy comes in, pulling John's suitcase behind her. "What's going on?" She looks at each of them, giving House a questioning look, but he has no answer for her and raises his eyebrows helplessly.

Cuddy kneels down in front of John, taking his hands into hers. "Honey, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

John briefly glances at the suitcase, shakes his head no, and continues to cry quietly.

"You don't wanna leave, do you?" House asks eventually. Cuddy looks up at him quizzically, then back to John.

"Is that what it is, sweetheart?" she asks him.

John nods, wiping at his tears. "Why can't I stay here, Mom?" he asks. "I promise I'll be good. I won't get into any more trouble at school."

"Oh honey, it's not about that at all. Is that what you have been thinking all this time?"

"Well, why can Rachel stay, but not me?" he asks her with reproachful eyes.

At that moment, Julia comes in through the front door. "Hey, we're ready. Are you—" she stops herself when she realizes John is crying. "What's going on?" She immediately looks suspiciously at House.

Cuddy shakes her head at her sister, gets out of her crouching position and sits next to John, pulling him onto her lap. "Sweetheart, I thought we talked about this?!" she looks at her son beseechingly. "I just didn't want you to see your dad that sick. There was so much going on, I wouldn't have been able to take good care of you. And Rachel is older. She can make her own breakfast, help me with the laundry…"

"I can make my own breakfast!" John protests. "And I can do laundry if you show me how."

Cuddy sighs and looks pained. She closes her eyes briefly and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Sweetie, I know this is difficult. You got used to being home again, and Spring break was so great! I'm going to miss you, too, but you have to go back to school on Monday. I can't just keep you here. I wish I could," she tries to make him understand.

John looks helplessly at Cuddy and cries even harder. He wraps his arms around her neck and sobs into her shoulder. "Mom, please don't make me go. I always miss you so much. I want to be here."

Cuddy's heart is visibly breaking and she starts to tear up as well. "Oh, honey," she sighs, and sits with him for a while, running her fingers though his hair and rocking him gently.

Julia leaves briefly to inform her family about the delay. When she returns, John has calmed down a little. "Where is this coming from, all of a sudden?" Cuddy wants to know, searching her sister's face. Julia stands there frowning; she, too, seems at a loss, and is upset about her nephew's grief. Cuddy holds John slightly away from her so she can see his face. "I always thought you liked it at aunt Julia's?! Why did you never tell me you were this homesick?"

John sniffles and wipes at his nose with his sleeve. "Rachel told me to suck it up. She said you already had enough to worry about."

Cuddy yanks her head at Rachel, staring at her in disbelief. Rachel bites her lip and averts her eyes. "I just didn't want you to be even more sad. I'm sorry, Mom."

Cuddy sighs and wipes away the tears that are running down her face. She holds John close and caresses his back while she tries to come up with a solution.

"What do you wanna do?" Julia asks her sister. "We really need to leave. Josie has that rehearsal tomorrow."

"I know. I don't know. I can't send him away like this." Cuddy shakes her head. "Not when he feels like I'm abandoning him."

House clears his throat. "I could take him tomorrow," he offers quietly. "I don't have to head back tonight."

"He's not getting into a car with you!" Julia exclaims, anger flashing from her eyes as she stares at him.

House stands up, not willing to take any more of her hate. "Oh, I see. You saw me drive once and from that you deducted its how I end all my car rides," House spits back at her. "I haven't been in an accident once. John's safer with me than with your sleep-deprived husband who can hardly see out of his eyes because—"

"Stop!" Cuddy calls out. "Both of you." She glares back and forth between them, incredulous that they are taking this out in front of the children. Her eyes travel to her kids and finally settle on Julia. "I think you should go." Julia's mouth falls open, and she is about to go on a tirade, but Cuddy cuts her off: "I'll come up with something. Maybe John doesn't even want to be in a car for a three-hour drive with someone he barely knows." She glances at House briefly. "Worse comes to worse, I'll drive him."

Julia stares at her sister for a few seconds until she gives up. "I hope you know what you're doing, Lisa."

Cuddy stares back at her.

Julia waits a beat, shakes her head in defeat, and walks towards the couch. She ruffles John's hair and kisses his head. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay darling?" she tells him. She gives Rachel a brief hug before she leaves.

There are a few moments of silence in which they all seem to be ordering their thoughts. Rachel is the first one to speak again. "So, House and John are staying tonight?"

House and Cuddy look at each other. "I'll check if I can get a hotel," House offers, not wanting to assume anything, but Cuddy brushes him off.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can take the couch." She looks at John and runs her fingers through his hair.

"I don't wanna go back tomorrow, either," he says. He still sounds upset, but he has stopped crying.

Cuddy sighs. "Honey, I cannot keep you out of school. There is no way around that. But maybe we can think of something that will make it easier for you, hm? Your last day of school is June 16th. That's only, like, eight weekends from now. I could come and see you more often," she suggests.

"What about me?" Rachel wants to know.

"You can come, too. But you still have some soccer matches, so I could drop you off there Saturday morning, then head to Princeton. You stay with a friend 'til Sunday, where I'll pick you back up." She turns back to John. "And we could skype more often. We can skype every night, if you want." She wipes at his cheeks and gets a tissue for him. "Think about it, okay, and we'll talk about it some more tonight and tomorrow. Come up with a plan together."

"Okay," John nods and clings to his mother again.

House feels awkward to just be standing there, watching them. In order to give the moment to Cuddy and John, he taps on Rachel's shoulder. "You wanna help me play clean-up-the-house?" he asks, and walks towards the kitchen, looking for a trash bag.

"That's not a game," she complains, but scampers after him anyways.

"It is if you make it into one," he says, holding the bag open. "You pick up whatever you can find that needs to go in here. We count how many out of ten you can hit from, let's say, a ten feet distance. Then it's my turn. Since I'm twice your height, we double my distance. Fair?"

She nods. "What does the winner get?"

He ponders this for a moment. "The winner _doesn't_ have to vacuum the carpet."

Her face falls. "That's a stupid price."

"Kids these days," he scolds in mock disappointment. "Only willing to work for money. Five bucks?"

"All right." She smiles, and they start their game.

The rest of the evening passes by with Cuddy and House cleaning up and storing away food while Rachel and John alternate between helping and playtime.

"Rache," Cuddy eventually brings up the unaddressed topic from before, and sits down on the couch with her kids. "Honey, I know you meant well, and I'm not mad at you, but I don't want you to feel like you need to protect me. You two come first, always, and if either of you is upset or angry or in trouble, I need you to tell me, okay? So we can work something out together."

They both nod.

"Okay. I love you both bunches." She kisses their heads. "It's late, why don't you go get ready for bed?"

"Will you come read to us?" John asks.

"Of course. Just call me."

Rachel and John scamper off. Cuddy looks troubled and thoughtful.

"Stop with the self-blame," House comments. He has kept busy in the kitchen. "Helping clean up is way more useful."

She sighs and walks over to him. "Thank you for your offer to drive him," she says, and starts putting away dishes.

House had been holding his breath on that, not knowing if she would even be okay with it. "I know I should have checked with you first, but there wasn't really—"

"No, it's okay," she stops him. "That was an impossible situation." She rubs her forehead and turns to him, her face serious. "So, are you sure that you want to be more involved? Do you really wanna get to know him?"

He swallows and nods. "I was actually thinking I could drive him up here at the weekends. 'Til the school year is over."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"You wouldn't have to make the trip down so often. And it's not like I'm busy at the weekends." He looks at his cane. "I could pick him up after work on Friday and bring him back to Julia on Sunday. It would give me more time with him. Only if he's comfortable with it, of course."

Cuddy's jaw juts out and she opens her mouth, about to say something. Then she stops herself and merely shakes her head, not knowing what to say. "I'll uh… I'll think about it?!" she suggests, frowning at him.

He nods and steps away from her. "I'll go get my stuff from the car."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

They have all had a long and eventful day, and he is glad when everyone has gone to bed and he can settle down on the couch. He puts earplugs into his phone and starts to watch the next episode of a Spanish telenovela he is currently into, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

About halfway through the episode, he sees someone approaching the couch hesitantly. He turns his head and finds John standing there in his PJs, eyeing him apprehensively.

House pulls out his earplugs. "Hey," he says quietly as he sits up on the couch. "What are you still doing up?"

John takes a few more steps towards the couch. He remains quiet for a while and studies House's face closely, squinting his eyes. Finally, he takes a breath and says: "Are you my dad, then? I mean, my real one?"

House raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What makes you think that?" he asks, trying to stall for time. To him, the question comes completely out of the blue, and he had not developed a plan on how to proceed if it did. He feels his heart speeding up.

John shrugs briefly. "The way you look at me. The way mom looks at you. Your nose looks like mine, and you have blue eyes. Blues eyes are more likely inherited when both parents have blue eyes."

House swallows. His first impulse is to lie and deny it. It would make a crappy start to their relationship, though, if there ever were to be one. "I, uh… Why don't you ask your mom about that?" he tries to deflect.

"She was never honest about it," John states matter-of-factly.

House takes in a deep breath. His palms are sweaty. "Let me, uh, I think I should go get her, anyways." He pushes back the blanket and grabs his cane before he stands up. "I'll be right back."

Cuddy's bedroom door is slightly ajar, and he knocks briefly before he enters. The light on her nightstand is on, but she is nowhere to be seen. "Cuddy?" he asks, making his way over to the bathroom.

"Yeah?" She steps into the room and he can only make out her silhouette due to the bright bathroom light shining behind her.

He pulls on his ear. "We've got a situation," he says quietly. "John's out there," he gestures towards the living room. "He just flat out asked me if I was his _real_ dad."

"What?" Cuddy exclaims in shock.

House reminds her to keep her voice down.

"How does he know?" she whispers. "Did Rachel say anything to him?"

He shakes his head, not quite sure himself. "I think he just added one plus one. How the hell does he know about genetics?"

Cuddy raises one eyebrow as if to say 'You have no idea about all the stuff he knows'.

"What do you want to do?" He searches her face carefully.

She exhales slowly, her chin dropping. "Well, I can't lie to him," she says, shaking her head. "Last time…" She stops herself without finishing the sentence. "He was so upset when he found out about the adoption." She draws in a deep breath and looks at him skeptically. "I guess we just tell him?!"

He nods. "All right." He bows his head and turns towards the door, leading the way back into the living room.

John sits cross-legged on the coffee table, playing with a yoyo. He looks up when he sees them both entering.

Cuddy is the first one to speak. "Hey, honey," she says as she approaches the couch and carefully sits down across from John. "How come you aren't asleep yet?"

John shrugs his shoulders and looks up at House who is standing in front of the couch helplessly, not knowing where to sit or what to say. Eventually, he picks up his blanket to make some room and sits down about three feet away form her.

"House told me what you just asked him," Cuddy explains tentatively, focusing on John. "Do you wanna come here and sit with us?" she asks, patting the space between her and House.

John hesitates briefly, but then climbs off the coffee table and onto the couch. House spreads the blanket over the three of them. Cuddy positions herself sideways, turning towards both of them. She sets her face before she says: "It is true, honey. House is your biological father." She waits for John's reaction, but he merely nods. "He wanted to meet you, and we thought this would be a good occasion. I'm sorry we didn't tell you straight away. We thought it would be easier if you got to know him a little first. I promise we were going to tell you, though." John nods again and tugs his legs under him, staring into the distance. "Do you have any questions about this? Anything you want to ask me? Or House?"

"Why didn't he want to meet me before?"

"He didn't know about you," Cuddy elaborates slowly, her voice even. "He found out a few weeks ago. When he was here with me and Rachel."

"Why didn't you tell him before?" John looks up at Cuddy, who drops her head and draws in her lower lip.

House clears his throat. "The last time your mom and I saw each other, I wasn't a good person," he tries to explain, glancing over at Cuddy briefly. "I was very angry. I drank too much alcohol. I wasn't very nice, to anyone, and I wouldn't have been a good father to you, so she decided not to tell me." He scratches his jaw contemplatively. "When you were born, I was actually in jail."

John's eyes widen. "What did you do?"

Cuddy takes back over. "He was taking drugs." She obviously does not consider this to be the right moment to go into detail about the hole he left in her house.

"Oh." John utters, considering this information. After a while, he asks: "Don't you need to do love to make a baby?" Cuddy looks at him puzzled. "You said that there is a little drop from the man and a little drop from the woman, and they do love to get the two together so the two drops become one drop, and then the drop grows inside the woman and becomes a baby."

House chuckles at this and raises his eyebrows at Cuddy. "And they let you teach first year med students at the hospital?" Cuddy hides her eyes behind one hand, but he sees the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "No wonder our health care system is down the toilet."

Cuddy smiles and hums gently as she ruffles through John's hair. John looks at her questioningly. "Usually people are _in_ love when they decide to have a child together. Then they _make_ love to get the two drops together. Obviously, I didn't explain this part very well to you. I'll try again some other time, okay?"

John nods and thinks about this for a while. "You said usually people are in love. You weren't?"

Cuddy's hand freezes momentarily, and House sees her holding her breath. She glances over at him and exhales slowly before focusing back on John. "We were, sweetie," she whispers, caressing his cheek. "We didn't plan to have you, but that doesn't mean we didn't want you, okay? I always wanted you!"

The three of them sit in silence for a few moments, all lost in their thoughts. At some point, John turns his head back to House, observing him for a while. "But if you were in love, why wasn't he nice to you?" He is looking at House, but the question is obviously directed at Cuddy.

She thinks about this briefly. "Well, the two don't always go hand in hand, I guess. Sometimes I am angry, too, right? Sometimes I yell at you. Doesn't mean that I don't love you. And sometimes you are very mean to Rachel, too, when you're angry. But I know that you do love your sister." Cuddy takes his hand into hers. "House's behavior was worse than pulling on someone's hair, though, and I didn't want to give him the chance to be mean to you. So I moved here with Rachel. When you were still that teeny tiny drop in my belly."

John looks at House again, this time addressing him directly: "But you are nicer now?"

"Huh," House exhales, not quite sure how to respond. "I think I'm gonna let you and your mom be the judge of that."

"He is, honey," Cuddy affirms. "He tried to help your dad when he was in the hospital in Princeton. And he helped Rachel and me when he was here." She sits up straight and brushes her hair from her face. "And he would really like to get to know you. We talked for a long time, and if you want to, we can try to make that happen. But it's really up to you, okay?"

John nods, looking indecisive.

"You don't have to decide right this moment," she continues. "We can talk about it again tomorrow. Maybe House can take you back to Princeton, and we all see where we go from there. Right now, I say it is way past your bedtime." Cuddy pushes back the blanket and gets up, tugging on John's hand. "Come on, let's get you back in bed." As she pulls him past House she stops and addresses him briefly. "I'll be right back," she murmurs. Turning to John, she says: "You wanna say good night to House?"

"Good night," John says shyly.

"Good night, John."

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He is still sitting on the couch, lost to his thoughts, when Cuddy returns to the living room. She stops in front of him, wrapping her arms around herself. He knows this to be a bad sign. "House," she starts, looking at him sternly. "Did you really mean what you said before? About driving him and everything?"

Her persistent doubt and skepticism about his motives are beginning to annoy him. "No, you're right. What I meant to say was: Screw the whole _I'm your father_ thing; it's way overrated. So what if my DNA strings are more closely related to him than to any other eight-year-old boy out there? I also share 99 percent of my DNA with all chimpanzees in the world and don't give a crap about them, either."

She sighs, pinching her nose. "You hate responsibility," she states matter-of-factly. "And I was always under the impression that you didn't even like kids."

"I don't like anyone," he retorts. "Kids are usually less annoying than their over-protective maniac parents, though." He glares at her, trying to make a point. "Except for the times in which they are crying. Or nagging. Or having tamper tantrums. Which is pretty much all the time, but luckily John seems to have passed all those phases."

She takes in a long breath, her face softening a little. "He is just so sensitive. I don't want him to get hurt. I don't want him to get used to you and then feel abandoned if you do decide to change your mind about all this." She gestures around the room with her palms up.

He bows his head and rubs his leg. He does understand her concern. She still thinks he is a ticking time bomb, ready to go off any minute. "I offered to take him up here for eight weekends. Less than that, in case you make the trip down once or twice. I am positive that I can commit to that. We can draft a contract if that alleviates your doubts. I recently practiced how to sign with my nose, in case I loose both arms. Oh wait, I wouldn't be able to drive him anymore, then, would I? Which actually should get me out of the contract, right? Let's add a section on that."

She rolls her eyes at him, but drops her arms to her sides and relaxes a bit. "And you wanna stay here with us? At the weekends?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

He shrugs. He has not completely thought this through and is not entirely sure about what he wants. "I can stay at a hotel. Join you for some things. Go to Rachel's soccer games." He shrugs again. "I don't know."

She pulls in her lower lip and nods briefly. "All right," she says, her voice more gentle. "We'll figure it out."

A few seconds pass by in which they simply look at each other, until Cuddy turns to leave. She takes a few steps towards her bedroom before she stops herself, thinking of something: "Thank you. For helping me out before." She raises her chin towards the couch, referring to the conversation with John. "And today, in general."

"Ditto," he replies drily.

"Sleep well." She turns off the light as she heads into her room.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The next day, Cuddy prepares John for the following weeks. She provides him with one of her old MacBooks so they can FaceTime every day—he is not allowed to own a smart phone, yet—and she tells John about House's offer to drive him every weekend. They agree to see how the day goes and decide about how to proceed afterward.

"And you know the rules about using the Internet, right?" Cuddy reminds John when she shows him how to log onto her Mac. "No surfing the web without an adult in the room, no games, no videos. This is only so we can keep in touch more easily."

"Yes Mom, I know," John sighs.

"And you're aware that I have ways to find out," she states firmly.

House remembers this tone of hers very well. He shields his mouth with his hand and audibly whispers to John: "Don't worry, I'll show you how to delete it all before we come back here."

John laughs; Cuddy gives House a blank stare.

"I'm kidding, of course," he tells her.

Cuddy shakes her head mildly. "You better be."

Before House and John are about to leave, House approaches Cuddy in the kitchen who is packing them leftover cake and some fruit for the drive. "What should I talk to him about?" he asks her quietly, scratching his head forlornly.

She raises her eyebrows. "Just tell him about your hobbies." He is about to comment on this when she quickly adds: "No strippers, hookers, or porn."

"That cuts the list quite short."

"And he's not really into monster trucks."

House grimaces. "You absolutely sure he's mine?"

She chuckles. "He is extremely interested in the human body."

"That does sound like me," he says, leering at her cleavage.

She ignores him. "He regularly interrogates me about how people get sick, why skin knows when and how to regrow, why it doesn't hurt to cut off hair… stuff like that. Then, of course, video games. Oh, and we got him a guitar for his seventh birthday. He didn't have any lessons, yet, because, well, Michael got sick and we never found him a teacher. But I heard him practice sometimes."

House nods along and makes mental notes. She smiles at him with amusement. "You enjoy seeing me flailing," he states. He pretends to be annoyed, but is happy for the normal banter they share.

"Yeah. A little bit." Her smile broadens. "I'm glad you care enough to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," he retorts. "It's a three hour drive with an eight-year-old. Just wanna make sure I don't fall asleep at the wheel."

She gives him a face of pretended shock, knowing that he was kidding, before she washes some grapes and dries them with a paper towel. "You'll be fine, House. Besides, I told him to feign sleep if he doesn't want to talk to you anymore."

His jaw drops briefly, and she chuckles.

"Here, let me text you Julia's address," she says, picking up her cell-phone. "I already informed her that you'd be bringing him." Cuddy gives him a quick glance. "I promised her you'll park your car _in front of_ the house, so don't let me down."

House is surprised. He thought it was too soon to be making jokes about this.

She hands House John's suitcase and calls for the kids who are playing in Rachel's room. "John, Rache, it's time to go!"

They all go out to the car and Cuddy crouches down to give John a long hug. "I love you, honey. So much! We'll FaceTime tonight, okay? And you can call me from your phone anytime, you know that." He looks slightly sad, but much less distressed than last night. She kisses his face. "I'll see you again Friday. That's only five nights from now, okay?" He nods, and she opens the passenger door for him. Julia had left John's booster seat on the front porch, which House has already transferred into his car, and John climbs onto it. In the meantime, House gives Rachel a hug and gets into the car as well.

Cuddy puts on John's seat belt and sets his backpack down by his feet. "There's something to drink and to eat for you in here. You know how to share, right?" John nods as Cuddy runs her fingers through his hair. "I love you," she says again.

"Love you, too, Mom."

Rachel runs around the car to give her brother a squeeze. "See you Friday, butt-munch," she exclaims well spirited.

House closes the car door and Cuddy leans down so she can look at him. "Drive safe."

He nods. "I'll call you when we get there."

"Okay." She steps back and pulls Rachel with her so she can close the car door. They all wave at each other while House backs out of the driveway.

At first, they are mostly quiet in the car, but House soon finds ways to bring John to chat. He actually finds him easy to talk to, and they do have quite a few common interests.

"Why do Mom and Rachel call you by your last name?" John asks at some point.

"Your mom and I used to work together at the same hospital. She was my boss, actually."

"Really?" John looks at him in surprise. "How weird was that? I wouldn't wanna work for my mom." He smiles at the bizarre idea.

"She likes being bossy," House winks at him. "At the hospital, we all addressed each other by last name, and your mom and I never changed that. Rachel was still little, and she just called me what your mom called me."

"What should I call you?" John asks.

House glances over at him and shrugs. "Whatever you want. House is fine. Greg works, too. Or Captain America."

John chuckles and remains quiet, apparently postponing his decision.

They hit some traffic as they get closer to New York City, but once they pass the New Jersey boarder, everything runs smoothly. House turns on the radio and with their occasional chitchat, time goes by quickly and they find themselves in front of Julia's house faster than he thought.

"Here we are," he says, turning off the ignition. "I'll get your seat and suitcase, you take your backpack."

They cross the street together and John rings the doorbell. Julia opens up with a happy smile for John and a frosty expression for House. "Thanks for bringing him," she says politely. He wordlessly holds out John's car seat for her, but she ignores him and focuses on John instead. She opens the door further and eagerly ushers him inside. "Come on in, dear."

"Bye, John," House calls after him as John walks past Julia.

John turns around and waves at him briefly. "Bye, Greg. Thanks." 'So 'Greg' it is,' House thinks, before John vanishes from view.

Julia takes the suitcase sitting next to House's feet and places it inside. House tries again to hand her the seat. "Keep it," she says, eying him with a mixture of anger and concern. "We have plenty of them. And, knowing Lisa, you will be back here on Friday."

He just raises his eyebrows and shrugs at her, not wanting to start a fight. He is about to turn around and leave when suddenly her fist comes flying at him and hits him straight in the jaw. His head rolls with the punch and he stumbles backwards, almost loosing his balance. He is shocked for a second and feels for his face absentmindedly, completely dumbstruck. "Wow," he mumbles as he pulls away his hand and spots some blood on his fingers. She split open his lip. Then he gets a grip on himself. "I was actually expecting your left," he says dryly, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "But I guess you don't have that much in common with your sister."

"If you hurt her again," she hisses through gritted teeth, "or John…" She glares at him, her body slightly shaking with anger. "So. Help. Me. God." She scrutinizes him from head to toe one last time, then she slams the door in his face.

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He sits at home contemplating Julia's words when his phone goes off. In that moment he realizes he forgot to call Cuddy.

"Hey, shouldn't you be home by now? Are you stuck in traffic?" she inquires after he has picked up the phone.

"No, the drive was fine. I dropped him off about an hour ago." He sits on the couch with his feet up, rubbing his leg.

"And? How did it go?" He hears the concern in her voice.

"It was good. I drove, we talked, I walked him to the door. He still has all his limbs." He tries not to sound bitter, but fails miserably.

"Then what's the matter?" she asks softly.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his forehead. He has no real intention of sharing the moment on Julia's front porch with Cuddy; or his doubts about getting involved in his son's life. He is not sure why he is wired this way. This is not the first time he fights for something he wants, and when he acquires it he pushes it away, convinced he does not deserve it.

"Did John say something to you?" she probes when he does not respond.

"No."

"Did Julia?" 'She really does have that nagging gene,' he thinks. She never lets him off the hook. "House, please talk to me."

He sighs again. "She gave my face a do-over."

"What?" Cuddy exclaims in shock. "She hit you? In front of John?"

"No, he was already inside." He rubs his forehead, feeling defeated. "And I think that maybe she is right. Maybe you _are_ making a mistake."

"Which one would that be exactly?"

"You wanted me out of your life for a reason. I'm no Santa Clause. I don't have joy and jingle bells tucked away in my jute bag. I've got a shitload of misery and pain. That hasn't really changed. You shouldn't let me pass any of my crap onto your kids."

There is a long pause on the other end of the line, and he just listens to her breathe for a while. "I've considered that," she says sincerely. "But how about you stop with the pity party and start painting your self-portrait with more than just black?" He is not in a particularly colorful mood and remains quiet. "House, you are great with kids! You are straight with them, you love to play, you're inventive, you challenge them to think outside the box…" She pauses for a few seconds, contemplating her words. "Rachel adores you! After you left she was all: House said this, House and I did that, when is House coming to visit?"

He feels touched, but is not quite convinced by her logic. "That honesty comes at a price, though. I don't pretend to like their cookies, I tell them when they annoy me and when they're being idiots. I teach them how to cheat and duck rules."

She sighs in slight exasperation, but her words to him are kind. "I know you're more Scrooge than Santa Clause, but it's not like you're moving in with us. You did fine the three weeks you were here, and I think you can manage to keep your crap bag to yourself for a couple of days in a row. And _if_ you get grumpy—when you're in pain—you can always hide away in my room. Or I'll send you to sit in the quiet corner." He hears the smile in her voice.

He feels his lips twitching up as well. "Okay." He never imagined she would be the one talking him into this.

"All right, I gotta go. Rachel is cooking tonight. I better make sure nothing's on fire." Her mood is light again, her voice playful. "Sorry you got punched. Although you did deserve it a little."

"Don't tell your sister I ratted. Maybe she just needed to get it out of her system. I've got the inkling that we'll be best buds one day."

Cuddy chuckles. "Yeah, right. The day I meet Santa Clause. I'll text you her number so you two can arrange when and where to pick up John on Friday. And so you can start your pen friendship."

He hums. "Kay."

"And thanks again for taking him."

"You're welcome."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

The time he spends with them runs more smoothly than he expected. He feels welcome at their house and accepts Cuddy's offer to spend the nights on the couch. The weekends are filled with activities such as Rachel's soccer games, cooking, playing video games, and accomplishing homework assignments. On the second weekend, House brings his own guitar and teaches John some chords he has not managed to learn from YouTube videos, yet.

Cuddy is softer and more emotional than he remembers her, which he attributes mainly to her children. She is extremely gentle and affectionate with her kids, and he enjoys the warmth and care in their interactions. The loss of her husband adds to her vulnerability, and House frequently finds her staring into space or tearing up when she stumbles across remnants of Michael in the house. With House around to be with the kids, she occasionally uses the opportunity to pay a visit to Michael's grave, returning with red-rimmed eyes. She is still tired and worn out a lot, but is turning more and more into the version he is used to.

One Monday night in the beginning of May, he calls Cuddy after work around nine, wanting to discuss something with her he had not managed to bring up the prior weekend.

"Hey, what's up?" she asks with slight concern in her voice. He hardly ever calls her; their main way to communicate is via texts.

"I know I probably should have mentioned this sooner, but I don't think I can drive John this weekend." He feels guilty for breaking his word to her.

"You _think_ you can't? What does that mean?"

He rubs his forehead, reluctant to tell her. "Could you come down to Princeton to see him? Visit your sister?"

"Yeah. I have to talk to Julia, but I think I can arrange that." She sounds hesitant, but not reproachful. "House, what's going on?"

"It has nothing to do with you, or John." His voice is becoming louder. "I'm not bailing out, okay? It's only this weekend." He knows he is overreacting. She had not accused him of anything.

"Okay." She draws out the 'o', indicating her irritation. "House, I wasn't implying… Why are you so upset?" Her voice is gentle, and he is almost annoyed she is so understanding of him.

He walks around his living room, trying to decide whether or not to confide in her. He feels embarrassed and weak. He wants no sympathy, especially not hers. Comfort he despises even more, mostly because he cannot accept it. He is used to suffering alone. Eventually he stops pacing and takes a deep breath. "It would have been Wilson's birthday this weekend," he says quietly into the receiver.

"Oh," is all she manages to say. There is a long pause on the other end.

He does not want her to be uncomfortable, so he tries to end the conversation. "If you… if it's not possible for you, I'll come. Just text me." He hangs up before she can say anything else.

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On Sunday he sits on the bench by Wilson's grave for a long time. It is cloudy and windy, but the air feels warm, and he listens to the singing leaves and the birds that are fighting to keep up with the noise. He closes his eyes and tries to remember the sound of Wilson's voice, tries to conjure up his face. What would they be doing today to celebrate this special occasion?

He is deeply lost in thought when he hears heels clicking on the pavement. He thinks it might be Sam—he occasionally runs into her here—but when he opens his eyes he sees Cuddy approaching with a candle in her hand.

She stops a few feet in front of him. "Hi," she says earnestly and looks at him with her head slightly tilted.

He realizes she is not here because of him, so he just points with his eyes in the direction of her destination.

She turns around, sees the headstone, and approaches it carefully. House cannot see her face as she stands there, looking at her friend's grave. He watches her measured movements as she pulls out some matches from her pocket, lights the red graveyard candle, and sets it down carefully. She stands there for a long time, and he knows she is silently crying. This is probably the first time she is confronting herself with his death; the first time she is mourning him. She pulls out one tissue after the next. When her supply runs out, he finally brings up the courage to get off the bench and walk up to her. He stands next to her and offers her a napkin he found in his jacket pocket without looking at her. "It's used, but you can take the flipside."

She chuckles briefly. "Thanks," she mumbles with a strained voice as she takes it from him. "I just feel _so_ awful." She wipes at her eyes as more tears run down her cheeks. "That I wasn't there for him. Through any of this."

"He wasn't alone," he says eventually, his eyes sadly following the curves of the letters on the headstone.

She calms down a little and glances up at him. "Tell me what happened?!" It is more a request than a demand. He knows she will accept a 'No' from him in case he does not want to talk about it.

He takes a deep breath as he looks upon the grave once more, and finally turns away. He is not denying her, which she must have read from his face, because she wordlessly follows him. He needs to sit down. Feeling the imprint of the hard bench still on his buttocks, he decides to walk to his car, which he parked closely to the graveyard.

They both get in after he unlocks the doors and, staring out of the windshield most of the time, he shares his memories about the last five months of Wilson's life. He tells her about his impending incarceration, his faked death, their bike trip, and many of the funny moments they shared, which ultimately became fewer and fewer as the cancer took away more and more of Wilson's energy and spirit.

When he finishes they sit quietly for a while, his voice still hovering in the confined space of the car. At some point, she takes his hand and looks at him. "House, I'm _so_ sorry."

Many people had said the exact same words to him at the funeral and in the days that followed, and to him they had sounded hollow and empty. It is different with her: She is the one person in the world who knows how much Wilson meant to him, and suddenly his vision is getting blurry as tears flood his eyes. He pulls his hand away from her, feeling embarrassed and pathetic. He looks out the side window and hopes that his tears remain in his eyes, unwilling to perform the telltale gesture of having to wipe at them.

"You should get going," he says, trying to maintain a grip on his voice. "You still got a long drive ahead of you."

"Yeah." She nods weakly. "I'll see you Friday?"

She looks at him, but he refuses to face her. "Yup. Say hi to the kids."

"Okay, I will," she says, and gets out of his car.

He watches her walk to her car and drive away while he sits there, slowly clenching and unclenching his right hand.

_Author notes:_

_I know this doesn't add much to the plot of the actual story, but I wanted to give Wilson some room. He will play a role in the next chapter as well. _

_I wrote another Huddy fic, btw. Under Her Skin. It's a short story set in season 7. It has nothing to do with this series, but go check it out if you like my writing. ;-)_

_Feedback is highly appreciated!_


	22. Chapter 22

_All righty, guys. Couldn't wait to share this chapter with you. I wrote it about a month ago when y'all were like "It was so unfair of Cuddy to have kept John a secret." (which I totally agree with, by the way). This chapter finally addresses some of House's anger. I struggled a little with where to put it in the storyline, but I think the time is now :D_

_Enjoy! And let me know what you think._

**Chapter 22**

The weekend after they stood at Wilson's grave, House finds himself alone in the house for the time it takes Cuddy to drop the kids off at Coach Sanders'—his youngest son is celebrating his birthday—and go grocery shopping.

He is not sure what prompted him exactly, but he ends up leafing through some of the photo albums Rachel had pulled out on the night he found out about John. Most of them are nicely decorated and probably meant for the kids to take along when they move out: They have their focus on either Rachel or on John. Others hold memories from vacations and are generally family themed, showing them at a beach, huddled around the fireplace next to a Christmas tree, or at a birthday party.

In one of the family albums, he notes a slight elevation between the back of the hard cover and the extra envelope around the book. He takes off the envelope and finds a brown paper bag taped to the back. The bag is sealed with tape as well, but it comes off easily, and he reaches for the contents inside.

He pulls out a small stack of photos, this time recognizing the locations they were taken at. They are pictures from the past; from the time he was still a part of her life.

The first few show Wilson and House's old team at Cuddy's house in Princeton, taking turns in holding Rachel when she was still a baby. They must be from Rachel's Simchat Bat. The next one is a selfie of Wilson, Cuddy, and Rachel as a toddler, taken in Cuddy's old office, Wilson and Cuddy making faces at Rachel to get her to smile.

The next picture is taken in a hospital room. It is dark outside. Cuddy half sits and half lies on a white visitors' couch with her eyes closed, her head leaning against the armrest. Her hands are tangled in Rachel's hair. Rachel is lying asleep on the couch with her head resting in Cuddy's lap. It was the night of his self-surgery, the night he had tried to remove the tumors in his leg. She must have called Wilson and waited until his arrival.

The second to last picture actually has House in it. He is sitting on the floor in his office with Rachel, toys strewn all over the place. It captures a moment when he and Cuddy were still dating: Cuddy had dropped Rachel off with him for an hour because the nanny had been sick and Cuddy had to take part in an important meeting.

House holds his breath when he sees the last picture. It shows him and Cuddy at a PPTH Christmas party, the only one they had attended as a couple. It is taken from afar with neither of them noticing the camera, showing them both in full body length. He is sitting on a bar stool with his feet up on the footrest. Cuddy stands between his legs, with her head nestled against his chest. The fingertips of her right hand are tucked into the front pocket of his button-down shirt, gently holding on. It must have been at a late hour, because her eyes are almost closed, and she seems to enjoy just resting against him for a little while. He has his arm draped around her, his hand spanning the small of her back. What moves House the most is the expression on his own face. He is looking down at her, as if he was in the middle of talking to her, a gentle smile playing around his lips, his tenderness and compassion palpable. He has never seen himself more content than in this picture.

He stares at it for a long time before he stores the entire stack away and returns everything to how he found it.

He draws himself a bath and tries to order his thoughts. The pictures must have been taken by Wilson—that he knows for certain. What he needs to know is when Wilson gave them to her.

When he hears Cuddy return, he hurries out of the tub and gets dressed quickly.

He finds her in the living room, clearing away John's Lego bricks.

"Did Wilson know about this? About John?" he inquires, approaching her in big strides. His voice is loud and shaking. For a brief moment he sees fear in her eyes, but he ignores it. He is scared they had been scheming this together. Afraid that his best friend had betrayed him as well.

"What? No!" She squints her eyes at him, taking an almost imperceptible step backward.

Her foot has moved merely an inch, but he noticed it anyways. Part of her obviously expects him explode and lay his hands on her again. He realizes he should calm down, but the fact that she still views him as a threat only adds fuel to his anger. "When did he give you those pictures?" he howls, nodding toward the cabinet.

She sets her jaw. "You've been going through my stuff?"

"I didn't presume the closet in the living room to be off limits," he retorts roughly. "Answer me!"

She wavers for a second, caught between fight and flight mode, before she visibly beats down her fear and takes a deliberate step toward him. "What's with the yelling?" she asks firmly, a mixture of annoyance and irritation about his coarse behavior crossing her face. "Why are you so upset?"

He rubs his forehead, trying to gain control over his breathing. He feels somewhat relieved—he needs her as his equal—and manages to back off a bit. "Would you just answer the question?"

She blinks several times until she decides to humor him. "It was after we'd broken up. Wilson was never here, I never talked to him since Rachel and I left."

House searches her face intently, trying to detect any sign that would indicate she was lying to him. "Why did he give them to you?"

She raises her eyebrows at him questioningly. "To be nice?! To cheer me up?! Remind me of good times?!" She shrugs. "You were obviously too self-absorbed to notice, but our break-up wasn't exactly easy for me, either."

His tension decreases, but he keeps eying her closely, still not one hundred percent convinced.

"Why would you think that he knew?" she asks him with an arched eyebrow.

"Before he died, he made me swear I wouldn't off myself. He said: 'You never know what good might come along'."

"That's pretty vague. It could've been just a phrase." Cuddy shakes her head, pondering his suspicion. "I mean, it is not completely impossible. He knew my sister, you had her address… He could have put a tracking device on her car and followed her up here one weekend. He might have seen me come out with the baby…" She looks up at House. "But even if he did, he couldn't have known for sure that it was yours. And don't you think he would have told you?"

House shrugs. "Maybe he also thought that it was for the better. Maybe he thought if it _were_ mine, you'd come around to telling me one day." He shakes his head. "He always overestimated people's heart sizes."

Cuddy raises an eyebrow and tilts her head in surprise.

"Certainly explains why he was my friend," House tries to deflect. He is not sure where the jab at her has come from all of a sudden.

"If you have something to say, go ahead and say it," she demands.

He sits down on the edge of the couch because his leg is starting to hurt. "If it hadn't been for your husband's illness and Rachel calling me, I still wouldn't know, would I? Even when I was here playing housekeeper, you couldn't bring yourself to mention that I had a son."

"For good and valid reasons," she states coldly.

He refuses to take this as an argument any longer. "You're the queen of guilt. You feel responsible for shit that doesn't even remotely concern you. And this you manage to keep from me _deliberately_ for years. Like some cold-hearted bitch."

She stares at him, squinting her eyes. "You think this was easy for me?" she says in a raised voice. "You have no idea how many nights I lay awake, tormenting myself. I've had discussions with Michael about this recurrently, which always ended in 'Honey, it's your decision if you want to tell him. Just remember to mainly base it on what would be best for John.'"

"Oh, poor you and the couple of sleepless nights you had over me," he spits at her. "You in bed next to your loving husband. In a cozy home with two kids who adore you, a job that feeds your ego… Do you have any idea what my life was like since Wilson died?"

"And you wanna blame me for that?" she bites back, shaking her head. "You managed that all by yourself, House! You pushed everyone who even remotely cared about you away. You hurt people, especially the ones who were close to you. And now you want some belittlement for having ended up alone?"

"You didn't even give me a chance to do right by my son," he growls at her.

"Because you wouldn't have!" She is yelling now, glaring at him full of spite. "That's the conclusion I came to—every single time I thought about this. You were a mean and manipulative ass, and I didn't want that for John."

"Oh, stop with your self-righteous bullshit! You did what was more convenient for you. Afraid I would throw my crap all over your pretty little family portrait."

"Well, I've had enough shit from you over—"

"This wasn't only about you anymore," he cuts her off angrily. "You should have faced the damn consequences!"

She draws in a quivering breath, shaking her head. She presses one hand against her chest while she slowly says: "I think that a father should be kind and loving and reliable. At least that's what I wanted for my son."

"Then you should've let yourself get knocked up by that guy!" he bellows. The picture of him and her at the Christmas party briefly flashes up in his mind's eye. "Why were you even with me if I was such a selfish and cruel son of a bitch? I don't recall ever having forced you to spread your legs."

She is shocked at his words, and tears start forming in her eyes. He knows he is stabbing at her, and expects her to tell him to leave. He is blowing this up, just like he did everything else. He is not sure why he is acting this way—why a part of him even wants her to throw him out.

Cuddy pinches the bridge of her nose and crosses her arms in front of her. Calmly, she says: "I have no idea why you're acting like such a jerk. If your aim is to make me feel bad for not having told you, I already do. But what gain do you have from that, really?" She looks at him expectantly, the anger gone from her eyes.

He drops his gaze, feeling defeated. She took away all his weapons in a flash. He has no benefit from this whatsoever. And he knows it. He exhales deeply and sits further back on the couch, leaning against the cushions. He rubs his leg as he ponders why he is lashing out at her; what exactly made him this upset.

He swallows hard when he realizes something he had not quite admitted to himself, yet. Which also explains why he had gone for the photo albums in the first place. "I just missed out on so much," he says quietly. "I never saw myself as a father. Never even dreamt about having a kid. But knowing him now and seeing him in all those pictures with you and Michael… I never got to hold him against my chest; smell his neck. He never wrapped his little fingers around my index. I never made faces at him to hear him laugh. I missed his first steps, the first time he called you 'Mom'; I'll probably never hear him call me 'Dad'…"

Cuddy sighs heavily and sits down next to him, contemplating his words. She looks sad and tired. "Obviously I can't give you that," she mutters. "I _can_ share my memories with you." She gestures towards the cabinet. "Photos. And I have some videos." This makes her think of something and she grabs her phone from the coffee table, searching it for something in particular.

When she finds it, she hands the phone to House, a slight smile playing around her lips.

It is a video of rather poor quality, but House recognizes a very little John, probably around one year old, standing by the coffee table, exactly the one they are sitting in front of now, holding himself up with one hand at the table top. About five feet away from him, Cuddy is crouching down, holding her arms out to him. 'Come on, you can do it,' House hears her say. John looks up at the camera, or rather at the person holding the camera, and House hears Michael's voice: 'Go ahead, go see Mommy,' he encourages him. John smiles and focuses back on Cuddy, finally letting go of the table and taking his first wobbly steps. Cuddy grins at him happily. 'Come here.' She pulls him into a hug when he reaches her. 'Yay,' she exclaims, beaming at John, and Michael chimes in on the praise: 'Good job, buddy.' Cuddy and John come closer into view as Michael walks up to them, and then the video stops.

House's heart is racing, and it feels as if something heavy has been placed on his chest. Viewing this moment on her cell phone brings no joy to him. On the contrary, even. A mixture of sadness, jealousy and regret rage through his body, and he notices his vision getting blurry. The phone he is holding is shaking badly, and he realizes it is because of his own trembling hand. She takes the phone away and wraps both her hands around his. "House," she whispers, looking concerned and troubled.

Like the last couple of times he realizes it is not actually her he is angry at. He is frustrated with his own inadequacy, helpless about the fact that he is so broken and screwed up. He never would have said those words to John if he had been in the situation, let alone taken the video. He is not sure he would have even turned his head to observe them if he had been in the room with them. 'You do realize he is not the first person in the world to accomplish that task,' he hears himself say to her, incapable to develop a feeling of pride, rationalizing the moment away. For the millionth time he wishes he could be normal, could enjoy what comes so naturally to most people.

"House…" she repeats, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "You can still hold him and make faces with him and hear him laugh. And although you weren't here for his first steps, maybe you'll be here for him to tell you about the first time he kissed a girl or, I don't know, compose his first song."

He is aware that she means well, but her words are of no comfort to him. What she said before, that he was a jerk who would not have done right by his son, rings more true to him than what she said just now, and he pulls his hand away from her, getting up from the couch. He feels like shit and puts on his sneakers, eager to leave.

"House," she calls out to him, rising from the couch. "Please stop running from me when you're upset." It is a gentle request. She does not approach him and does not try to block his way this time.

He grabs his jacket. "Can't. I'm a gimp." He shakes his head, not looking at her, and leaves.


	23. Chapter 23

_at cali: No, I don't have a twitter. I'm a complete social media bum._

_at harp: Wow, that was quite the comment XD. We're totally on the same page. I have several more chapters written, and they pick up on a lot of things you mention. So, be patient (both with the plot and with Cuddy ;-D), I don't think you'll be disappointed. Btw, why do you want insight for her (about the break-up) only in this story? Why not in general?_

_at everyone: Thanks for the kind comments and for cheering me on. Have fun with this chapter! Not sure this is a bit too far over the top, but I was feeling sappy._

**Chapter 23**

The kids leave House no time to sulk. When he returns to the house that evening, Rachel and John have returned from the birthday party. The moment House steps inside, Rachel shows up in the living room, looking cheerful.

"Where have you been?" she asks him.

"Out."

"Look what we got," she grins, shoving a gift bag full of candy and small toys at him. "Mom says you like lollipops." She rummages around in the bag und pulls out a red one. "You can have it."

At that moment, John comes running from the hallway. "Mine, too." He comes to an abrupt halt in front of House, searching his own gift bag. "It's coke flavored, so way better," he claims, holding it out to House.

"Way not," Rachel refutes.

"I will do my utmost to enjoy them equally," House states, taking the candy from them. "Thank you."

"We're building a fort in my room, you wanna come help?" Rachel asks.

"A tent," John corrects.

Rachel rolls her eyes at him. "A tented fort. Whatever." She tugs on House's hand, pulling him along with them. "Come on."

They are so eager for his attention, constantly dragging him into the moment, that his bad mood eventually dissipates and he ends up having fun playing with them. When they have Rachel's entire room canopied with blankets, the three of them lie underneath and pretend to be somewhere out in the jungle with nothing but the tent and the starry sky above them. House takes a Sharpie and draws star constellations for them on the blanket they are facing.

"You'll get in trouble doing that," Rachel giggles.

"I'm educating you. Your mom should thank me."

"We're not allowed to draw on our stuff," John whispers.

"This is your blanket?" House asks Rachel. She nods. "And I have your permission, right?" She nods again. "There you go. And I'm sure it'll come off. If not, I just made sure you'll never forget Cassiopeia and Orion."

They smile.

At some point, Cuddy calls for John to get ready for bed. House and Rachel stay in her room to tidy up and go over her Spanish homework until she, too, leaves for the bathroom.

House manages not to run into Cuddy all evening, unsure if she, too, is avoiding him, and eventually settles down on the couch with a book. Half an hour later he sees someone approaching out of the corner of his eye, and he expects it to be Cuddy, but when he turns his head, John is standing next to him.

"I cannot sleep," he states. "Will you read something to me?"

House squints his eyes at him, not seeing him clearly through his reading glasses. "Would you believe me if I told you I didn't know how to read?"

John tilts his head. "Why would you say that?"

House sighs. "We really need to work on your skills to detect sarcasm." House puts down his book. "Why don't you ask your mom?"

"Dad used to read to me when I couldn't sleep. Mom reads the bedtime story. And she always falls asleep when she lies down with me."

House grabs his cane and rises from the couch. "There's a lying-down rule?"

"Yup. I want to see the pages, try to read along. You have to go slow." They walk into John's room together.

"That's a lot of conditions, considering you're the one asking for something." John crawls onto his bed. House looks around forlornly. "What's the last thing you were reading?"

"Winterdance." John pulls out a book from his shelf.

House almost whines. "Please don't tell me it's a romantic fairy tale with a happy ending."

John smiles. "Nope. It's about running the Iditarod." He pats the space on the bed next to him, holding the book out to House.

"The sled-dog race in Alaska?" House asks, taking the book and opening it at the bookmark. He drops the bookmark on the floor and settles down on his back.

"Yup." John lies on his back as well, his head resting on House's upper arm.

"You remember what happened last?" House holds up the book so they can both look at it, skimming over the previous pages.

"Yes. He was training for the race with his dogs when he found a deer trapped in a... I don't remember the word. A leash?"

House finds the respective place in the book. "A snare."

"Right. The doe was hanging there and he thought she was dead, strangled in the snare. He cut her free, her head fell into his lap, and he realized she was still breathing. He sat there and patted her neck until at some point she came back to consciousness and looked at him. How cool is that?" John beams. "After a while she got up and walked off."

"That _is_ cool," House nods.

"That's where we stopped. Dad was already sick and he said that this was not going to happen to him. That he'd just get back up and be okay. But that the story proves it _can_ happen, and that I should never loose hope in life."

House internally rolls his eyes. "Wow. He really was a 'grabbing life by the testes' kinda guy, huh?"

"Testes?"

"Testicles. You know? Balls."

"Oh." John ponders. "What are life's testicles and how would he grab them?"

"That's a good question," House chuckles. "I guess for me they'd have to change the sentence to grabbing women's t—" House stops himself, thinking that Cuddy would not approve of this conversation.

"Titties?" John finishes for him, a mischievous grin on his face.

"You didn't hear it from me." House mutters. "I was saying your dad sounds like he was a life affirming guy."

John shrugs. "I guess."

"And you must miss him."

"Not as much as I should. I was hardly here, at home, you know, where he was always around. And he wasn't really my dad. He lied to me about that."

House rests the book on his chest, his finger marking the page. "Your mom did, too."

"Twice the disappointment." John sounds bummed. "I think parents shouldn't be able to lie to their children. It should not even be possible."

"Like an immutable law?" House suggests.

"Immutable?"

"Absolute. Something that can never be changed."

"Yeah. Like that. Like a constant."

House sighs heavily, looking up at the ceiling. "I hear ya."

"Do you have a constant?" John asks.

"I wish." House looks over at him. "Who's yours?"

"Mom used to be."

"Is that why you started getting in trouble at school?"

"Mom told you that?"

"Rache mentioned it. You weren't angry at your classmates, you were angry you lost your constant," House guesses.

John furrows his eyebrows, contemplating House's remark.

"Maybe you don't have to write her off just yet. She told me she wasn't gonna lie to you anymore."

John turns on his stomach, his lower arms resting on House's chest. "Really?"

House nods. "When you asked me if I was your biological dad, I went to her room, remember? To ask her what we should tell you. She said 'I cannot lie to him again.'"

John searches his face for a long time, letting the information sink in.

"I'm sure she's sorry," House says.

John turns back around to stare at the ceiling. "They both were. But how does that help? Why don't people know _before_ they do something that they'll be sorry about it, and just _not_ do it?"

"That's another really good question." House turns his head to John, furrowing his eyebrows. "How old are you again?"

"Eight."

"Gotta work on the concept of rhetorical questions as well," House notes.

"I know what that is," John protests.

"Gotta work on you _picking up on_ when I'm using it as a linguistic tool." House scratches his forehead. "But back to your question: People screw up even when they know better. When we play guitar together, for example, and I miss my cue—"

"You never miss your cue," John interrupts him.

"Good point! Let's say that, hypothetically—you know what that means?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so, hypothetically, I miss my cue although, in theory, I know my cue. Maybe I wasn't paying attention, maybe I thought, just in that moment, that a later start would be better… whatever the reason, what would you do?"

"Try again from the top? Keep playing?"

"Well, first you'd call me on it, right? Look at me funny. Let me know I missed my cue. You wouldn't decide to never play with me again just because I missed it once. You'd expect me to do better next time. And eventually you'd forget that, this one time, I missed my cue. Maybe not forget, but it won't be important anymore."

John turns around to look at House again. "That's forgiveness?"

House raises his eyebrows at him questioningly.

"Dad always said that I should try to forgive them. I never really knew what that meant and how it works."

House smiles. "What do you say I make _you_ my constant? You seem like a pretty straightforward guy."

John smiles back. "I'm a child."

"Children can't be constants?"

"Children know nothing."

"Therefore they can't lie. Foolproof!"

John shrugs, a smirk on his face, and turns on his back again.

"All right. Off to Alaska." House picks up the book and starts to read. "'I was on the run again, working the team along the river, when I started to think of them—the doe and Marge—' who's Marge? His hot girlfriend, waiting for him longingly at home?"

"A lone wolf that ran along with them for a while."

"Hm. 'I started to think of them not as something in the wild, something to be observed, but as good friends that I had come to know and understand.'"

House continues reading even when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cuddy pushing the door fully open and approach them. She stands next to the bed, but he turns the book such that his face is hidden behind it, and continues to ignore her. She eventually pushes it down gently, glancing at him over the top. "He's asleep," she whispers, a smile tugging on her lips.

House turns his head toward John. "I know. I was reading to myself," he quips. She bends down to pick up the bookmark and hands it to him. He folds the book closed and places it on the shelf. Cuddy carefully lifts John's head off House's shoulder so he can scoot out from under him.

Cuddy turns off the bedside lamp and they quietly leave the room. In the hallway, she stops by the door to the bathroom and turns around to block his way. "I was looking for you earlier," she says, keeping her voice low. "I overheard part of your conversation," she confesses. She looks at him earnestly. "That was very sweet of you."

House lowers his eyes and simply nods.

Cuddy takes in a deep breath. "House." She looks troubled. "House, I know this probably doesn't help much, and we're already way into the composition, but obviously I missed my cue. With both of you."

House has no idea what to respond to her.

"I missed the mark," she admits. "Way off target."

"You didn't even fire a shot," he states drily.

She closes her eyes briefly, pressing her lips together. "I aimed," she tries to explain. He can tell she feels guilty. "I went by your apartment. Twice. When we were visiting my sister. I parked my car in your street, sitting there for hours… hoping I'd see you go in or come out, get an idea of how you were doing… all the while considering to knock, but I never got out of the car. And when you helped diagnose Michael, and when you were here… I definitely intended to tell you. I just… I was in pieces. And I didn't know how you'd react. So I postponed it. Again." She stares at him with her big blue eyes, holding her breath almost fearfully.

"Okay." He nods, not knowing what else to say.

As he makes his way past her, she gently adds: "Check your phone."

He shoots her a questioning look.

"Good night," is all she whispers before she vanishes into the bathroom.

House sits down on the couch and grabs his phone from the coffee table. He has three new messages. They are all from her. When he opens them, he sees that they are not texts but pictures. Two are from earlier in the day when he played with the kids in Rachel's room, building the tent. House had not even noticed Cuddy enter the room.

The third one is from about half an hour ago, when he was lying in John's bed. It captures a moment in which John is leaning on House's chest and they are facing each other. It is the first picture he has of him and his son, and House cannot help but smile.


	24. Chapter 24

_Okay, so here's another chapter. I worked on it A LOT, and am still not 100 percent happy with it, but I think it's as good as it gets. Not sure why I was having such a hard time with it. It gives a lot of direction to the plot, and I hope you still like where this story is headed._

**Chapter 24**

They are all at the park together, the June sun shining down on them. They had some sandwiches and watermelon, and now Rachel and John are off running, playing soccer with a bunch of other kids.

House is lying back on the blanket they have placed on the grass in the shade, his hands folded under his head. Cuddy sits next to him cross-legged, munching on a piece of melon. He glances through the canopy of leaves at the clear blue sky above them.

"What was childbirth like?" he asks her.

She looks at him oddly, surprised by his choice of topic. "Not something I regret to never experience in my life again. I was in labor for sixteen hours, refusing PDA, and—

"No idea why I asked that," he stops her. "Just as boring as all the other stories about this incredibly _unique_ experience," he says sarcastically. "Let's move onto breastfeeding. Way more interesting. Were you at all turned on by it?"

She rolls her eyes at him, making a little 'tz'-sound with her tongue.

"Come on, you said you were willing to share."

"About what _John_ was like," she deflects.

He is amused by her discomfort, obviously having hit the right spot. "It's not a big deal. With all the oxytocine and prolactine flooding your body… And nipples being erogenous zones… Thirty to fifty percent of women experience it."

She pulls in her lower lip. "I know," she confesses in a low voice. "I googled it. I thought I'd gone completely whacko, and was close to reporting myself to Child Protection Services."

He chuckles.

"How do _you_ know?"

"A patient asked me once," he explains. "Back when I still had clinic duty. I tended to attract all the whackos."

She gives him an ironic grin, picking up on the small jab at her.

Since their fight, they have shared several of these moments—bantering like old times—and House feels more comfortable with her than he cares to admit. He also finds himself enjoying the company of the kids immensely, and is surprised by how easily he managed to embrace all the noise that has entered his life so unexpectedly. Contemplating his bliss makes him wonder about when and how it will end. The school year is over soon, and House is anxious about what will happen thereafter. He thus far could not muster up the courage to address with Cuddy that his services as John's driver will not be needed much longer. Whenever the issue had entered his mind, though, he pushed asking her about it to another date.

She must have been contemplating the same thing, because eventually she says: "It's John's last full week of school next week." Her voice is casual, but he suspects that the conversation is crucial to their future—or rather to his future in their lives.

The school year in Princeton ends on the Tuesday one and a half weeks from now. He knows this, and she knows that he does. He is not sure exactly what she is getting at. "You want me to throw him his first Jell-O shot party?" he asks cockily.

She ignores his comment. "Rachel still has school that week. I am going to take the four days off. I don't want him to be alone at the house all day. I'll come down on Tuesday and pick him up after school, pack his things, and move him back home."

He looks at her, still unclear about where the conversation is headed. "I don't think I'll be any help carrying the boxes to the car." He clenches his hand around a bundle of grass, pulling on it.

"I'm just saying that you don't need to drive him here next weekend. I'm sure he'll be fine, knowing that it'll only be a couple of days after the weekend until I take him home."

House makes a fake sound of understanding in the back of his throat, and focuses his eyes back on the tree branches. What she said implies that the current weekend is his last weekend with them. It bothers him that she is taking everything out of his hands again; that his time with them is coming to such an abrupt ending. He cannot help but feel bereft, and is surprised by how much grief erupts in him.

Although he is convinced he hides his feelings well, she picks up on his change of mood. "Have you thought about what you tell the kids when they ask about when they'll see you again?"

He turns his head towards her. "They wanna see me again?" he tries to joke, but it comes out more bitterly than he intended. He wonders why she is acting as if any of this was his choice. "You brought it up, so you obviously put some brain matter into this already."

He shifts his focus onto her, observing her body language more closely. Maybe he has misinterpreted what she said before. She, too, seems nervous. She twiddles around with the green peel from her piece of watermelon, eventually setting it down, and wipes her hands on a napkin rather forcefully. "I was going to leave that mostly up to you," she says, avoiding his eyes. "The kids will be at camp over the summer, but you're welcome to come visit after that."

He realizes he has been holding his breath while she talked. He is still uncertain about what exactly she is suggesting, and why she is holding back. He thought he had been clear about wanting to be involved. He exhales slowly. "You mean the way I am visiting now?"

She shrugs, biting down on her bottom lip. "Maybe less frequently?! Like every other weekend?! Depending on all our schedules." She fiddles with her napkin.

He sits ups slowly, carefully rubbing his leg. He remains quiet and waits for her to continue, hoping for more cues regarding her vagueness.

"Maybe we can come down to Princeton more often. I could drop the kids off with you while I see my sister. Or you come pick them up." She meets his eyes, but only fleetingly.

He is confused by the words 'drop off' and 'pick up'.

"We could start to look for apartments here, if-if you want. Where they could go to see you."

Then it finally dawns on him. She is not worried he might not want the kids; she is worried he might not want _her_. She actually considered handling this like a divorced couple: To have the kids staying with him every second weekend. He feels relieved and almost laughs at the absurdity of it.

"Why are you smiling?" she asks, sounding confused.

He has not even once entertained the thought of cutting her out of the picture. Rachel is not his child, and he has no rights whatsoever to see her. Another, more significant reason, is that he doubts his abilities to meet all their needs—his capabilities to fully provide for them. He lacks Cuddy's warmth and emotional care. Most importantly, though, he wishes to be _part of_ their lives, not force them into another life with him, separating them from their mother. "First you're reluctant to let me even meet John, and now you wanna throw your kids at me for an entire weekend?" he taunts her, taking pleasure in leaving her floundering a little.

"I wasn't suggesting the whole weekend—"

"If I didn't know you were already decades past menopause, I'd be assuming your aunt flow to be spinning your wheelhouse a little."

Cuddy sighs, rubbing her forehead. "House, you're obviously great with them. I was just saying that if you want to take them to the bowling alley in Lawrence, or if you want your own place here where they can come visit, that's fine."

He lies back on the blanket, twirling his cane in his hand. "Well, first of all, I get paid the salary of an intern. Do you remember rental prices in Princeton? They have quadrupled since last you checked."

"Maybe I could help out with that."

"Second of all," he continues, ignoring her, "this is a free country. You can tag along and demonstrate your pathetic bowling skills to all of us." He enjoys himself. "And third, your couch already remembers the imprint of my butt cheeks. We're tight like this." He stops his cane and looks at her, crossing his middle finger over his index. "It would be offended if I left it for another."

She puffs out some air, and holds his gaze for a long time. "Okay." She nods.

For a while they both sit in silence. He plays with his cane; she watches John and Rachel chasing after the ball.

"Julia's youngest will be here in the first week of Rachel's break," Cuddy informs him after a while. "She's fourteen, so she can keep an eye on everything. After that, the three of them will go to camp together for eight weeks. It took a while to convince John to go, but he did have a blast last year."

Again, he is unsure why she is sharing these details with him. She knows he has no interest in specifics. He squints his eyes at her.

"You could come see them off, if you want. Before they leave."

He nods, appreciating her suggestion. "Yeah." He is happy at the thought of seeing them again in two weeks.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

He is back in New Haven for the whole weekend before camp starts in order to spend as much time with the kids as possible. He is of no use in helping them pack—a task he always detested—but has fun giving them advice on how to pull pranks on their cabin camp mates. On Sunday afternoon, he drives the three kids and Cuddy to the appointed drop-off location near Rachel's school.

"What if I cannot sleep at night?" John worries in the car.

"I put some earplugs in your toilet bag," Cuddy tells him. "And I packed your small light, so just pull out your book and read until you get tired."

"What if the other kids are mean to me?"

"They won't be, honey."

"Just tell them you have a big sister and a big cousin who will kick them in their finest area if they don't stop," House suggests.

He hears giggles from the back seat; Cuddy gives him a sideways glance.

She turns her head around to look at the kids. "Rachel, Josie, one of you sit with John on the bus if he doesn't have anyone else to sit with, okay?"

"Mom, I have friends! I was only gone for a year," John defends himself.

"I know that, honey, it just might turn out to be an uneven number of you and your friends, and if everyone's already on the bus when we get there… I just don't want you sitting all by yourself for the entire ride, okay?" She reaches behind her seat to pat his knee. "Rachel, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Mom," she sighs.

"In the light of being overprotective," House jumps in, "did you also pack them toilet paper in case the camp runs out?"

"No." Cuddy rolls her eyes, but actually looks somewhat embarrassed.

"Wet wipes?"

She drops her head and covers the left side of her face, hiding away from him.

"God, you're so predictable," he chides, but actually enjoys mocking her, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

When she drops her hand from her face, he sees that she is just as amused.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

They all wave at each other as the bus leaves. It is a cloudy afternoon with occasional showers, but the air feels mild and warm. John sits by the window, pressing his hand against the glass. He has tears in his eyes, and Cuddy fights hard not to cry as well. "It'll be great," she says out loud, holding both her thumbs up. House hopes John can read from her lips.

"God, eight weeks is a long time," she says as the bus pulls around the corner. She looks worried.

"He'll be fine."

They walk back to the car, and House drives Cuddy home. She is quiet during the ride, and actually dozes off halfway there.

"We're here," he says as he puts the gear into 'Park' in her driveway, leaving the motor idling.

She hums quietly as she wakes up from her slumber, her eyes blinking rapidly several times. "Okay. Thank you," she mumbles, undoing her seat belt. "We'll be in touch?!"

"Yeah," he nods. "I'll call you when I hear from them. And when I don't hear from them."

"Okay. Drive safe." She gives him a small smile before she grabs her purse and exits the car.

He waits and watches her reach the front door and unlock it. She turns around briefly to look at him again before she vanishes inside. As he pulls out of the driveway, he realizes that he is not just going to miss the kids.

A fleeting image of Cuddy crying pops up in his mind's eye. For a moment he thinks he is simply projecting his sadness onto her, but then he realizes that this is the first time she is truly alone in the house since her husband died.

He parks the car again at the curb, grabs his cane, and gets out.

Making his way through the house, he finally finds her lying in Rachel's bed, a stuffed elephant pressed against her chest. When he sees her lying there, her big watery eyes looking at him in wonder, he fails to repress the love he feels for her. Even despite everything, a part of him still loves her. Maybe a part of him never truly stopped loving her. Maybe a part of him never will. In that moment, he also knows that he is never going to act on those feelings. He makes a promise to himself to never go down that road with her again.

"Cuddy," is all he says as he limps his way over to her.

"I thought I heard you pull out the driveway," she sniffles, her voice shaking. She swallows and wipes at her eyes. "What are you doing back here?"

"You are just that predictable," he teases, sitting down next to her. By now he is so used to comforting her that his hand finds its way to her back before he manages to suppress the impulse.

"Hm." She tugs in her chin.

"I heard parents are supposed to _jump_ on their kids' beds when they have the luxury to be rid of the life-sucking parasites for a while, not lie in them crying."

"I never got a copy of that handbook." She closes her eyes briefly, her tears silently rolling over the bridge of her nose and dripping onto the mattress. "Is your mother still alive?"

He shakes his head.

"When she passed away, did you feel like it was harder to be a grown-up?" she asks, looking up at him.

"Have we met?" He squints his eyes at her. "I never grew up."

She gives him a small smile. Then she glances at her wedding band, a forlorn expression on her face. "I'm not sure why, but I felt like the world got meaner after my mother died."

"As a form of compensation? She can't be nasty to you anymore, so now the whole world makes up for the loss?"

This gets a small chuckle out of her. She sighs. "I guess death makes you remember the good parts only. The things you miss."

"Selective memory," he nods, and hands her a tissue from Rachel's desk. She wipes her eyes and nose. "Come on," he says, giving her back a gentle push. "Let's make some dinner. Something the kids hate."

"Indian?" she asks, sounding slightly fond of his idea.

"With lots of chili."

She smiles through her tears and lets him help her onto her feet.

After they cook and eat together, he keeps her company until she is asleep on the couch. He turns off the TV and covers her with a blanket before he leaves to drive back to Princeton.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

After the summer break, they continue in the same manner as before, except that House sees them only every second or third weekend. In between his visits he regularly texts with Rachel, and frequently calls John to ask him about school and friends and his guitar practice. House and Cuddy typically communicate via texts, which mostly revolve around the kids and organizing the weekends. Sporadically, Cuddy calls him from work to ask his opinion about a delicate decision. Likewise, when House has reached the end of his rope on one of his cases, he calls her to bounce ideas.

It feels strange to House that all three of them seem to be looking forward to his visits. He is being greeted with hugs and smiles each time, even from Cuddy, and he cannot help but feel like a lucky bastard who does not deserve this much affection and appreciation.

Cuddy treats him in the way she did before they ever dated. He feels relaxed around her, and enjoys bantering with her. Like old times, he annoys and irritates her occasionally, pushing hard on the boundaries of what she considers 'good parenting', but overall they manage to be at ease around each other. She is kind to him and even tells the kids to back off when she notices that he is in more pain than usual.

House and Cuddy share a slightly awkward moment towards the end of October. He and the kids have been carving out pumpkins for Halloween all day. The weather is bad, and House decides to take Rachel and John to see a movie. Cuddy sits at the table with her laptop, busy with paperwork.

House and the kids are putting on their shoes and coats by the door. Rachel and John are noisy and loud, competing against each other on who can get dressed the quickest. They are so impatient to head to the car that House hands Rachel the keys and lets them rush ahead. They throw their good-byes at Cuddy and are already out the door when House finally finishes tying his shoes. He puts on his coat, and tells her good-bye as well while he warps his scarf around his neck.

She is preoccupied with her work, not even looking up, and says: "Bye, love you."

They both freeze in their tracks. She stares at him with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

"I-I-I didn't mean…" she stammers, palpably shocked at her own words. "I wasn't…"

He recovers quicker than her, clears his throat, and straightens his face. "I got it. Force of habit." Finding back his motor functions, he puts a knot on his scarf. "I'll see you later, _honeybuns_." He winks at her, and her face relaxes into a smile.

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Two weeks after that, around mid November, they all sit at the dinner table and discuss John and Rachel's upcoming birthdays in December. John desires to have his own smartphone, but Cuddy objects.

"Everyone in my class has one," John tries to argue. "I'm completely left out of everything."

"I'm sure not _everybody_ has one, and there are other ways to communicate," Cuddy shoots him down.

Rachel joins in the conversation. "I got mine when I started going to middle-school. It would be unfair."

House is decidedly on John's side. "There are probably three kids in his class who don't have one, and those are the looser kids. Next thing you know he'll get pummeled for not being up to date on the latest hot-shot apps."

"You certainly know where to find all the _hot shots _on the Internet." Cuddy raises one eyebrow at him. "I just think it's too soon to expose him to all that."

"Oh come on, I'll know his pass code and check his phone regularly to make sure he doesn't get addicted to porn," House brushes her off.

"What's porn?" John wants to know.

Cuddy stares at House, appalled that he brought up the topic.

"It's videos of people having sex with each other," Rachel informs her brother.

"Oh my God!" Cuddy exclaims, staring first at Rachel and then at House. "Did she get that from you?"

House's heart sinks for a second. It is the same feeling he experienced when his mother had caught him doing something forbidden. "She asked me about it, and I explained it to her," he defends himself.

"Oh God," Cuddy utters again, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Look, if you don't talk to your kids about this stuff, they will hear it from someone else," House says, regaining his self-confidence. "And those people might not tell her what I said, which, for the record, was 'Don't watch one until you're sixteen, and even then you probably won't like it, because they're actually made for men without much joy in their lives', they'll say 'It's so cool, here, let me show you.'" He pretends as if he is pulling out a phone from his pocket and showing the display to Rachel.

"Well, _for the record_, John is not getting a smartphone for his birthday," Cuddy states pointedly. "And luckily, you don't get to make this decision. _I_ do, because _I'm_ the parent!" She presses her hand to her chest, staring at him spitefully.

She rises from her chair, signaling the end of the discussion. She picks up several plates with a loud clatter, and carries them over to the sink. House remains quiet. Not because he is afraid to say anything else—they have thrown far worse things at each other—but because he is actually hurt by her words. She is right, of course: He does not have any say regarding the kids—no custody or jurisdiction whatsoever. If something were to happen to Cuddy, Rachel and John would both be in Julia's care, and he would probably have to fight her if he wanted to continue seeing them.

"I'm going to take a walk," he says, getting up from the table.

"Can I come? I'll take my skateboard." John suggests tentatively. The kids had quieted down during their dispute, and are sitting at the table slightly lost about how to handle the situation.

"It's wet and cold outside," Cuddy cuts in. "I don't want you getting sick."

House and John share a quick glance. They both silently agree not to argue with her.

"Why don't you practice on that song some more?" House proposes to John. "If you can play it fluently when I get back, I'll do the second harmonic."

John nods.

House takes an umbrella and walks around the block for ten minutes, then he sits in his car for a while, ruminating on her words.

When he returns, he joins John in his room, and they play guitar together. At some point, Rachel comes in and sits on the bed with them.

"You know the song?" House asks her.

She nods shyly.

"You wanna sing along?"

"Only if you sing with me."

He gives a huff, one corner of his mouth turning up. "All right. Let's go from the top."

The three of them make music together until it is time for bed. Rachel already has ideas for the next songs she wants John to learn, and the evening ends more harmoniously than House thought it would.

As the kids get ready and into bed, House lies down on the couch with his headphones on, watching a Spanish telenovela to distract himself. At some point, Cuddy walks up to him.

He ignores her until she pulls the plugs out of his ears rather forcefully. He sighs loudly to demonstrate his annoyance, and pauses his show before he turns his head to look at her.

Cuddy's face is stern, but apologetic. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I _do_ want to hear your opinion. It's good to have someone else to discuss these things with."

He nods at her, accepting her apology. "It's just not _my_ opinion you really want."

She raises her eyebrows at him, not knowing what he means.

"You took off your wedding band." He juts his chin towards her left hand. He had noticed the missing ring right after she hugged him hello last night.

She seems surprised for a second, not having made the connection between the abandoned ring and her irritable behavior. When it dawns on her, her eyes start to water. "It's been a year," she whispers. "Last weekend." She swallows hard. "Since he died, I mean."

"Why did you take it off?"

She looks up at the ceiling and then to the side, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "I thought it was time. I need to move on." Her tears are rolling down her cheeks.

"Has that ever worked for you? Forcing yourself to move on?"

She exhales slowly and looks forlornly at her bare ring finger.

"When people say they want to move on, I think what they actually mean is they realized that they are stuck," he muses. "Doesn't mean they know how to get unstuck."

She looks at him again, a desperate expression on her face. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Now it is his turn to shrug. He has no idea how to make her feel better. She is crying because of another man. One who was good to her and her kids. One who probably always knew what to say to her for comfort.

In a very quiet, very insecure tone, she asks: "Would you hold me?"

He stares at her in surprise. Out of all the things he might have come up with, this would have been one of the last items on the Cuddy-comfort list.

A thousand words fill his mouth simultaneously. All the options of what he could say sound wrong in his ears, though.

"I'm sorry," she inserts, interpreting his silence as reluctance. "That's too weird, right?" She holds up her hand as if in need to defend herself. "I wasn't thinking…"

He moves onto his side, and holds up the blankets for her.

She hesitates for a moment, and opens her mouth to brush off the whole situation, but shuts it again. Exhaling deeply, she steps forward, crawling onto the couch and under the blankets with him such that her back rests against his chest. He drapes one arm loosely around her waist. The other is tucked under her neck, bent at the elbow, so he can hold onto her shoulder.

He smells her shampoo and feels the warmth radiating from her body. His heart is speeding up, and he knows she will notice, so he distracts her with his voice. "What I was trying to say is: Why rip off a band aid when you know that with enough sweat and showers and baths, it will eventually peel off easily?"

"You're saying I should just wait 'til my ring falls off?" she asks, laughing mildly through her tears.

"The moment will come, maybe five weeks from now, maybe five years from now, when you'll look at it and realize that you already _have_ moved on. And it won't hurt as much anymore, to take it off."

He feels her trembling and hears her sniff her nose.

He lets her cry for a while. "Don't be so hard on yourself," he murmurs eventually, his thumb caressing her shoulder.

She stifles a laugh. "Have you met me?"

He smiles.

"You know, you do keep surprising me, House," she says after a few moments, wiping at her eyes. "Did you attend a class about giving comfort?"

"I'm trying to ignore the insult in that," he says, half in jest, half in earnest. He knows he may not have always said or done the right thing, but he had always attempted to be there for her. At least when it was important; when she had really needed him.

"Hm." She thinks for an instant. "Maybe you were always good at it, and I just got better accepting it. Or asking for it." She pulls the blankets more tightly around her. "I did actually want to thank you. For coming here, you know, the first time around. To my rescue."

"You already thanked me."

"Yeah, but I didn't really see the whole picture back then. I was such a wreck. Last weekend, I thought about where I was a year ago. Where we were, as a family, and I realized just how vital it was that you showed up. I cannot even imagine what would have happened if Rache hadn't called you. If you hadn't come."

"Well, I was somewhat responsible," he admits. "I busted away your walls. Both literally and figuratively. I owed you."

She turns her head and moves the side of her body into him so she can see his face. "Is that why you came? You felt guilty?"

He pauses briefly, pondering her question. "No. I came because Rachel asked me to. I know what it's like to _not_ know who else to call."

She swallows at his words and looks at him sadly. She fleetingly touches his cheek before she turns back into her original position, settling firmly against him. He feels her searching for his hand, so he untangles it from the blankets and intertwines his fingers with hers.

"I heard you sing with the kids before," she murmurs, sounding tired. "It was beautiful."

"Rache has a great voice."

"Yeah. So do you."

They hold onto each other for a few minutes before she stirs in his arms and groggily mumbles: "I'm drifting off. I'm gonna go to bed."

"All right," he says, releasing her from his arms and lifting up the blankets for her to climb out.

She wishes him a good night and squeezes his shoulder as she makes her way past him.

"Good night, Cuddy."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

House spends Thanksgiving with them and Christmas, and it is the fist time in years he not only has a place to go to for the holidays, but one he really wants to be at. He doubted he would ever enjoy this time of the year again, but the smell of cinnamon and cookies, the soft glow created by lit candles and the fireplace, and the kid's gleeful faces make him inexplicably happy. On Christmas Eve, he heads out with Rachel and John to buy a tree, and he decorates it with them while Cuddy is wrapping presents in her bedroom.

Occasionally, he wonders about how long his happiness is going to last. A small part of him is constantly on the lookout for a threat—a misunderstanding, a fight, some outside event—which might topple their peaceful, yet fragile arrangement.

Although House is aware that what Wilson said after Amber's death is not true—he _is_ capable of experiencing emotions besides misery—his baseline is set right around that feeling, and he regularly manipulates his life such that he eventually ends back there. He is worried he will screw up; that he might do or say something so insensitive Cuddy will cut the line with him.

He invests a lot of thought into finding and defining his concept of a respectable dad, and works hard at putting it into practice.

He also makes an effort to be supportive of Cuddy, and goes so far as to ring her up on her birthday in February. "I was gonna send flowers, but they probably wouldn't have made it in this weather," he jokes. He knows she expected nothing. She seems surprised he even called.

"I'll imagine them," she says gently.

"I'll imagine having some of that cake. Rache sent me a pic."

"About that…" Cuddy starts hesitantly. "There's a job opening at Princeton General."

He frowns. "You lost me. You want me to apply for a better paid job so I can afford my own cake?"

"No. I know you can't apply anywhere because of your lack of a license." She pauses. "I've been thinking, for a while now, about moving back."

House draws in a breath and holds it. He is completely perplexed by her proposition.

"You're right, that was a clumsy transition," she continues, noticing that she has caught him off-guard. "What I meant was: If we lived closer, you would be able to drop by and have some cake."

He swallows hard, concern rising in him.

The frequent long drives have been putting a strain on him. When the traffic was bad on Fridays, it could take him up to six hours to reach them. So, of course the idea has crossed his mind as well, but rather in the other direction: Him finding a place and a job near New Haven. With his criminal record and missing license, though, no hospital would take him. He had doubted she would be willing to change their living situation.

"House?" she interrupts his thoughts. He has been quiet for a while.

Unsure about what to say, he sets his focus on the kids. "I'm sure Rache and John would be upset. You wanna drag them out of the house they grew up in? Force them away from their friends? Rache has her team... They're attached up there."

"I know that," she states. "I actually asked them about it a couple of weeks ago already."

House is surprised by her determination. "And?" he asks, both curious and anxious.

"John was really mature about it, weighing the pros and cons. He already has some friends in Princeton, and I think I could get him back into the same school he attended last year. Rachel started to cry. When I told her this wasn't going to happen if she wasn't okay with it, she calmed down and let it sink in for a while. Today she said she'd be very sad, but that she makes friends easily and that she thinks she'd be fine."

He has doubts, but is afraid to voice them. He scratches his head absentmindedly. "What's your motive?" he queries instead. "Besides being closer to your sister. You think moving on will be easier if you take it literally?"

He hears her sigh. He can practically see her becoming frustrated with him: She is probably pinching her nose right this second. "That's certainly part of it. Everything here reminds me of Michael. People still constantly ask me about him and about how I'm holding up. I'm tired of being the sad tragedy."

"What's the other part?"

"House," she growls impatiently. "Stop deflecting and tell me what _you_ think?!"

He stands up and starts pacing around the room, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's definitely a big step," he states.

"You think it's a bad idea." Her voice sounds low and raspy.

"I'm saying why change a running system?" he probes carefully. "The kid's are happy. We're good. You are… I don't know... Less of a nut job than you could be."

There is a pause on the other end of the line. "What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't want to see the kids more often?" She sounds tired and slightly saddened.

He sits back down on the couch, tapping his cane on the carpet. "See, I'm already disappointing you," he says quietly, rubbing his temples. Her expectations of him have always been too high.

She is interpreting his hesitation as rejection, which is far from the truth. House does want them closer. But the thought scares the hell out of him. Having them near would give him many more opportunities to screw up.

For a while, they just listen to each other's breath.

"Okay, let's take a step back for a sec," Cuddy suggests. "Can we maybe try the Helen thing? Share our fears?"

He looks around the room. "Okay." He rubs his leg, contemplating his next words. "I suck with expectations. You know that. Throw me an expectation, and I'll run the other way. Two hundred miles an hour."

"You can't even run two miles an hour," she states dryly.

"Sweet." He smirks, but quickly turns serious again. "This has been going well because you hardly have any. I show up at the weekend or I don't. It's my call; no hard feelings." Being this open with her is difficult for him. "If you lived here, you and the kids would want me to show up at things—school plays, concerts, soccer games, birthdays—and… I'll fail them. And you."

She is quiet for a beat, giving him the opportunity to say more. He has nothing to add, though, so she takes her turn. "All right, let me rephrase…" She makes an effort to remember what they learned in their therapy session and put it into practice. "You're scared you won't live up to expectations. So the underlying motive is…" She thinks for a moment. "I don't know. You want to meet their needs?! You want to maintain the positive connection you have with them?!"

"Sounds about right." He has noticed that she excluded herself from his fears, but he refrains from calling her on it. "Your turn."

"Okay." She takes some time formulating her words. "I guess my fear is, or was, that you didn't want to be involved. It's why I was getting impatient before. I'm worried you might turn away from them again at some point. That they'll get hurt." Her voice is soft and vulnerable.

Again, she left herself out of the picture. He wonders what it means, but is too afraid to pressure her. "So, where does that leave us?" he asks instead.

"I don't know," she mumbles. "I mean, if you're scared it might all get too overwhelming, maybe we could agree on a specific schedule. We basically have one now, too, right? You come every second or third weekend, that's it. We can maintain similar restrictions even if we lived closer. Like, you see them one day every second weekend and one evening during the week. Or whatever you think you can handle. We would convey this schedule to the kids and stick to it. Avoid all overt and covert expectations."

Her suggestion eases him up a bit. "Just like visiting hours in jail," he jests.

She hums, sounding more cheerful as well. "Think about it, okay? Nothing's settled, yet. I have to get the job first, then find a house and a school for Rachel…"

"Wear a low-cut top and a push-up for the interview. They'll definitely take you." He sits back on the couch, settling more comfortably into the cushions. "I'll text Sam to keep an eye out for suitable properties."

"Thank you." He hears the smile in her voice. "I'll talk to you later. Gotta get back to my cake."

"Happy birthday, Cuddy," he mumbles, before he hangs up.

_Author Notes:_

_This was another one of those "transitional chapters", and it marks the end of Part III. (Another phone call, hehe. Unlike all the other parts, the next part is not going to start with one.)_

_This is not going to be a never-ending story__—__I've actually known for months how it will end—and Part IV will be the last part. So, get ready for the grand finale ;-)_

_BTW, Princeton General does not exist IRL, but it is mentioned several times in the series, and I decided to stick with their universe._


	27. Chapter 27

_Here we go, off to Part IV. This is my absolute favorite part. I loved coming up with each and every chapter so much. It has the saddest, most dramatic, sweetest, funniest, and most poignant moments. I have three chapters left to write, and feel both excited and sad about this journey coming to an end soon. _

_Oh yeah, before I forget (at LobbyLane and everyone who has been wondering about House's current employment status), House is working at PPTH, but only because Foreman was nice enough to employ him after he got out of his second imprisonment. House faked his own death in order to avoid a prison sentence, and I assume this to be a pretty big deal (I admit I'm not familiar with the law about this). Anyways, in my story they pulled his license from him, and Foreman gave him a badly paid job (as an intern or a janitor or whatever) so House could at least unofficially still do what he enjoys: diagnose. It is quite a powerless position for him, though, because he has no team and no real say about the patients Foreman assigns him. He's a consultant, basically. So his life has been really shitty since Wilson's death, and he mostly let life just happen to him instead of taking an active part in it. At the time the story starts, his self-esteem is completely down the toilet._

_BUT: We're in the middle of change. _

_Have fun with the chapter! And thanks again for all the nice comments. I really appreciate them (special shout out to my hard-core homies X-D)._

Part IV

**Chapter 27: The Move**

Cuddy gets offered the job at Princeton General, and they move in the summer of 2021. Sam finds them a beautiful house in Lawrenceville, and House aids Cuddy in getting a good deal on her property in New Haven by acting like a bidder and elevating the price. Cuddy's folks help her move while the kids are away at camp, and by the end of the summer, they live about a twenty-minute drive away from his apartment.

In the first two to three months, they more or less stick to the schedule they had set up, but then the lines start to blur, and House finds himself spending more and more time in their home. He much rather drives to them after work than to his own empty apartment. Cuddy gave him a key to the house, and he often arrives there before her. He usually helps the kids with their homework or plays with them, makes music with John or dinner with Rachel.

He and Cuddy remain on friendly territory, and he is fine with that. When he has the kids on a Saturday or a Sunday, he always welcomes her to join them; sometimes she does, sometimes she is busy with work or running errands. One Saturday in late August, they visit the Princeton University Art Museum together, and have ice cream at Palmer Square afterwards, enjoying the last rays of the summer sun.

House occasionally wonders if maybe Cuddy is seeing someone, especially when she comes home late several days of the week, but he is determined not to pry. Not sniffing around goes against his nature, but considering how he felt during the time she was dating Lucas, he decides to rather not know.

He focuses on their friendship and on being supportive, and half a year after she started working at Princeton General, she is actually the one helping _him_. Joining forces with Foreman, she pulls a few strings in her position as Dean and manages, subject to the fulfillment of certain requirements, for him to get his medical license back.

House has already started putting some of his savings away into trust funds for Rachel and John in order to help finance their education, but the increase in salary puts him in an even more comfortable position, moneywise, and he approaches Cuddy about paying alimony for John.

She seems surprised about his offer. "All right. If you want to."

"And I want custody," House adds.

Her face falls slightly and she pinches the bridge of her nose. "Ay, there's the rub. Everything comes at a price, doesn't it?" she raises her eyebrows at him.

"It's not a tit for tat," he states earnestly. "My offer is unconditional. I've been thinking about this for a while. I'm not officially his dad on any piece of paper."

Cuddy seems uncertain about his motive. "What exactly do you want?"

"I'll leave that up to you." He knows that she is generally more reasonable when she feels in control over delicate matters. "I just want to be allowed at his hospital bed if something were ever to happen to him. I don't want to have to fight Julia in court if something were ever to happen to you. With my record, I'd certainly lose."

She nods understandingly. "All right. I'll look into it."

"Thank you."

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They settle on joint legal custody, with Cuddy having primary physical custody and the final say if they were ever to disagree over a major issue. Before finalizing the papers, they ask John for his opinion on the topic. They sit him down one night after dinner, breaking the news to him.

"What would that change?" John asks them.

"Nothing, really," House explains. "It's just a piece of paper verifying that I'm your dad. So I can obtain information about you from schools and doctors, fetch you from jail, stuff like that."

Cuddy shoots House an annoyed look before she focuses on John. "When you were born, I didn't have it written on your birth certificate that House was your father. It's just to state this officially. It gives House some legal rights."

"So, should I call you 'Dad', then?" John shyly glances at House.

The question takes House completely by surprise. He stares at John for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly. "I don't know… You, uh, you don't have to," he stammers. "Does it feel to you that I am?"

John ponders the question. "Yeah, I guess. I always have to explain to my friends why I call you Greg although you're actually my real dad."

House runs his thumb over his forehead, feeling both happy and insecure. "All right," he exhales carefully. "I mean, if it's okay with your mom." He looks at Cuddy with uncertainty.

She seems to be having mixed feelings about it as well, but eventually raises her eyebrows and decisively says: "Yeah, of course." She ruffles John's hair. "You can if you want to. You don't actually have to decide right now, though. Try it out, see what you feel the most comfortable with," she suggests. "Does that sound good?"

John nods.

When House picks up Rachel from a friend's house an hour later, he informs her about the news.

"What about me?" she asks.

House squints at her, unsure what she means. "You wanna call me 'Dad', too?" He looks at her doubtfully, disliking the idea. He has always been quite fond of her calling him 'House' just like Cuddy.

"No, douche. How weird would that be?" She looks out the window without any further elaboration.

He furrows his brows, wondering about the motive behind her question. "You afraid you might stop being my favorite?"

She turns her head at him in surprise, taking him seriously.

"Don't worry, I tell John the same thing," he messes with her.

She ignores him, an annoyed expression crossing her face.

"Oh come on, it was a joke. What's this about?"

"Nothing." She folds her arms in front of her and stares out the window again. "Forget it."

She has started showing this kind of behavior recently, closing off and feeling misunderstood. House mostly attributes it to the onset of puberty. Besides that, she was, and still is, having a bit of a difficult time adjusting. She is attending her last year of middle school and is the only new student in her class. She quit playing soccer, claiming that her coach was an ass, and she frequently voices that she finds people 'down here' snobby and weird. House believes that she will feel less of an outsider once she starts High School, and he has told her as much.

Rachel actually texted House when she had gotten her first period about two months ago, asking him to bring her tampons because she was too embarrassed to buy them herself.

"It's not a big deal," he told her when he reached the house after work, handing her the box he had snatched from the hospital. "Half the population gets them at some point. Actually, a little less than half, because there exist about sixty Million more men than women in the world. Which is a shame, when you think about it. Maybe men would fight less with a surplus of opportunities to mate."

She rolled her eyes at him and started making her way to the bathroom.

"You know how to use them?" he called after her.

She turned around with a sigh. "Seriously?"

"You have no idea how many women have been in the clinic, complaining to me about how uncomfortable they were, especially when sitting down. Turned out they thought the little plastic insertion helper was an essential _part of_ the tampon and had left it attached."

Rachel laughed out loud. "That must have been pre Internet. I'm sure there are millions of tutorials even on that topic. Which I don't need, by the way."

House smiled to himself after she had left for the bathroom, and felt slightly proud she had texted him and not Cuddy.

When he has to stop the car at a red light, he glances over at the passenger seat and tries to reach out to her one last time. "If you're ever hospitalized, I'll blackmail the nurse to let me in. Or I'll disguise as the janitor. I do get confused with him frequently at work."

"Whatever," she replies, shrugging her shoulders. This was one of her favorite words lately, and House gives up trying to get through to her.

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House is mostly in touch with the kids, and announces to them before he stops by. He is glad he does not have to check with Cuddy each time, and feels welcome at their place.

One Friday night he arrives at the house to find Cuddy on the couch by herself, reading some papers while eating dinner. "Hey. What are you doing here?" She looks surprised to see him. "Didn't the kids tell you they went out with their cousins?"

House reaches for his phone to check his messages. "Yeah. About ten minutes ago." He waves his arm upward in a shrug, pulling one corner of his mouth to the side. "I definitely need to work with them on their communication skills. And the concept of time and distance."

"Sorry." She looks genuinely empathetic he came all the way out to find them gone.

He shrugs his shoulders again and is about to turn around when she stops him.

"Stay," she suggests. "If you want," she adds tentatively, then gestures towards the kitchen. "I cooked plenty. It should still be warm."

House contemplates her offer for a moment. This form of being together was unusual for them. Of course there had been moments they had spent just the two of them, but it was always the result of the kids having gone to bed or to play outside, never a conscious decision. He feels awkward to stay but rude to leave, so he decides to take the middle ground.

"Only if you let me watch Rick 'n' Morty." He knows she hates that show and tries in his own way to set some ground rules. He does not want this to turn into a 'How was your day, honey' sort of evening.

"The remote's all yours," she says dryly, tossing it towards the empty space next to her on the couch.

He takes off his jacket and makes himself at home, and the evening turns out pleasant enough. He eats while watching his show, she works, asks him if he wants a cup of tea, they chat a little about Foreman's new girlfriend, and when she tucks away her papers, he switches the program to an action movie starring Owen Wilson, which gets her to smirk.

During a commercial break he goes to the bathroom to pee. On his return, he finds Cuddy asleep on the couch. He covers her with a blanket and sits back down carefully, deciding to finish watching the movie and then leave.

In the middle of a thrilling car chase with guns blazing and tires squeaking, Cuddy startles awake with a jerk. Her hands fly up in front of her, warding off an imaginary attack. Her breath is coming out in heavy puffs. When she catches sight of House, her eyes wide with shock, he sees fear travel across her face, followed by recognition and sorrow.

He knows what her dream was about, and turns off the TV. They had not addressed the topic since it came up during and after their session with Helen. He rubs his leg and waits for her to calm down.

It takes her a moment to orient herself, her eyes travelling around the room. When she notices the blanket on top of her, she pulls it up to her chin, relaxing slightly. She rests her head back on the cushions, and her breathing returns to normal. Eventually, she focuses her gaze on House, and he sees tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"How could you do that, House?" she asks, her head turning gently from side to side. Her tone is quiet and void of all accusation. All he hears is pain and incomprehension. "I trusted you with my _life_."

He has asked himself this question many times, but never managed to come up with an adequate answer. "Maybe I didn't want you to trust me anymore." His mouth is dry, and his voice sounds raw to his own ears. "I didn't want you in my life anymore. I didn't want to have to see you again, every day. It hurt." He scratches his chin. "So, I did something so extreme you wouldn't forgive it. Couldn't forgive it." This is as far of an explanation he can offer.

Her eyes search his face sadly. "And now? You still think I can't forgive you? Or that I shouldn't?"

He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know," he whispers, because he truly has no answer for her. "For a long time, I thought it was good. For you and for me. Not what I did, but to have that cut." His hand moves back to his leg. "I do know that what I did was horrible."

She tugs in her lower lip and closes her eyes briefly.

"I'm ashamed of it," he admits. "And for what it's worth, I _am_ sorry for the pain it caused you."

Cuddy swallows and nods slightly. "Thank you," she says through her tears, and he can barely look at her.

He has nothing else to say, so he rises from the couch. "I'm gonna head home."

She sniffs her nose. "Okay."


	28. Chapter 28

_What I forgot to mention last time: The chapters have headings now. I made a time line at some point, and needed descriptions for the chapters. I've decided to keep them._

_This one might just be my favorite chapter. I had so much fun coming up with it and writing it. Moments and ideas kept popping up in my head, which is why it ended up being this long. It's quite the rollercoaster chapter. You'll love it (and maybe hate it a little). Let me know. X-D_

**Chapter 28: Cuddy's Birthday**

House is not sure Cuddy forgave him, but a while after their conversation he notices some changes in her behavior. She touches him more often and has started to offer him the guest bedroom when he is staying particularly late or when the weather is bad. He spends many evenings at their place, and occasionally he takes her up on her offer, especially when his leg is hurting. He loves being with her and the kids.

Lately, he catches himself seeking out Cuddy's proximity or purposefully standing in her way, unconsciously hoping for her to rub his back or give his arm a brief squeeze when brushing past him. He longs for her, but tells himself to focus on their friendship. He has no trouble holding himself back, except for in the more quiet moments they share, for example, when they are on the couch and she falls asleep on his shoulder, or when she graces him with one of her broad smiles emanating unconfined happiness. In those moments, he grips his cane more tightly or balls his hands into fists in his pants pockets, stopping them from reaching out to her.

On her 55th birthday, Cuddy throws a big party. It has been a little over three years since her husband died, and one and a half years since they are living back in the Princeton area. Feeling settled, Cuddy decides to celebrate big, which she has not done in ages, and invites pretty much everyone she knows: family, colleagues, old friends from back in the day, friends from New Haven, and new friends she made here, which mostly consist of parents from Rachel's or John's friends. Cuddy also encourages Rachel and John to invite their friends, and in the end the three of them gather quite a crowd of people across all ages.

House arrives three hours after the official start, which was at 6pm, because, first of all, he hates all forms of events with many people who expect him to act according to the social norm, second, his leg has been hurting a lot all day, and third, he is afraid he might get introduced to a significant other he wishes he would never have to meet. Cuddy has been especially chatty and aglow in the last few weeks, and he assumes she has met someone. He has actually considered not attending at all because of how shitty he would feel, but John kept texting him, and House knows his son would be upset if he failed to show up.

When he arrives, he has to drive his car a couple of blocks further down the street, because everything in front of the house is parked full. He can feel the buzz of the party as he approaches on foot. The house is illuminated inside and out. There are lampions hanging from trees and bushes, and the front porch is sweetly decorated. He sees people passing behind the windows, and hears the beat from the stereo.

He decides not to use his key and ring the doorbell instead.

Cuddy opens up, a mixture of joy and confusion crossing her face when she recognizes him. "House!" she exclaims gleefully. "Did you lose your key?"

She looks simply stunning, and House is slightly taken aback for a second. She is wearing a black dress that straps around the neck and leaves her shoulders bare, she has put up her hair beautifully, and her make-up is highlighting her big, blue eyes. Everything about her is shining. "Tossed it at some homeless guy and told him to stop by later. For the leftover booze." She chuckles and ushers him inside. House can tell that she has had a couple of drinks already. "Judging by the rate you're going at it, he'll be outta luck."

Cuddy shuts the door behind him, ignoring his remark. "You came," she beams at him.

He shrugs. "Wouldn't miss the big five-five. You realize you are five times John's age now?"

"Oh, shut up." She slaps at his chest playfully. "This ratio is actually decreasing. When he was born, I was 43 times his age. When he turns 43—my age when I gave birth—I'll be only twice his age."

House unbuttons his coat. "Means you'd be 86. Let's talk then if you still thinks it's the better ratio." She smiles. He looks her up and down with emphasis this time. "If someone were to break a leg tonight, we could use you as an x-ray machine."

"I'll take medicine for one hundred, Alex," she jokes. "You were looking for the word 'radiant'?"

He smirks and pulls out his gift for her from his coat pocket. "Happy birthday," he mumbles, thrusting it at her.

She seems touched and surprised. "Aw, that's sweet. I'll put it on the table with the others, unwrap it later." She inspects it more closely. "No card?"

"Trust me, when you see it, you'll know it's from me." He winks at her, and she chuckles.

"I am so glad you came," she says again, still smiling. He expects her next words to be 'Because, actually, I want you to meet someone', but she simply offers to take his coat.

"I'll find a place for it. Go party." She pats his arm briefly and is about to turn away when he stops her. "Hey, what if someone asks how we're related? 'Friend' sounds so boring. How about I was your sperm donor? Or gigolo? Or _plumber_?" He grimaces suggestively.

Cuddy laughs. She looks around the entrance hall and stops the first person brushing past them. "Hey, Sarah, this is Greg House. He's John's dad. We stayed good friends. He works at Princeton Plainsboro." She looks from Sarah to House, gesturing between them: "House, this is Sarah, one of my best nurses." He shakes hands with Sarah while Cuddy gives him a look that says 'See, it's that simple' before she makes her way into the living room and through the crowd, heading for her gift table.

Sarah wraps House into a conversation and introduces him to a bunch of her friends standing around a bar table. He chitchats with them for a while until he spots John making his way to the kitchen, and he excuses himself.

"Hey champ, you're not sneaking away any beers, are ya?" House approaches him as John pours himself a cup of soda.

"Hey Dad!" John sounds excited to see him. He seems a little hyped up, probably from the party and too much coke. "I think you're confusing me with Rachel." He grins. "When did you get here?"

"Not too long ago. It's hard to find anyone your size with hundreds of people in the house. Your mom sure knows how to party."

John smiles. "I heard someone throw up in the back yard outside my window half an hour ago. It was gross."

House smirks. "No sneaking away through that window tonight, then. Or opening it, for that matter." He pours himself some juice. "Did you play your gift to your mom, yet?" John had rewritten the lyrics to a song he had been learning on the guitar, and had asked House to give him feedback on them.

John nods with emphasis.

"And?"

"She cried," he says, looking proud and happy.

"Up high!" House holds out his hand and John gives him a high five. They smile at each other for a moment. "So, Rache is having a bit too much fun?"

"She's no _fun_, Dad, she's _cool_." He uses air quotes on the last word and rolls his eyes sarcastically. Rachel is in her freshman year of High School and turned fifteen a couple of months ago. John has trouble relating to her in her stage as a teenager, and they are momentarily less close than they used to be.

"It's a phase. She'll get over it. And then you'll be in that phase." House winks at him.

"Not ever!" John shakes his head defiantly.

"You know I'll rub this in your face three years from now, when you're having your first puke in the back yard."

John laughs.

"Did you eat already?" House asks.

"Yeah. I actually gotta get back to my room. I'm trying to teach my friends how to play poker. So far, they suck."

"I'll stack some food and throw a few people off the couch, play my cripple card." House briefly holds up his cane, finishes his drink, and heads for the plates. "Catch you later?!"

"Yup."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

House sits down on the couch, which is, in fact, hardly occupied. People are mostly standing at the bar tables that are scattered around the room, and some already started to dance. The lights are dimmed and Cuddy has put up Christmas lights around the walls, giving the room a warm and colorful glow. House feels unnoticed and eats in solitude until Foreman shows up and slouches down beside him, a bottle of beer in his hand. They chat briefly until Forman finishes his drink and announces that he wants to head home, where his eight-month pregnant girlfriend awaits him.

House considers wandering around to see if he runs into someone he could talk to—earlier, he had spotted a few parents he knows from dropping off or picking up the kids from their friends—but his leg is still acting up, so he decides to stay put. Furthermore, Julia and Bill must be lingering around somewhere, who he still prefers to avoid.

He watches people chatting and dancing, and keeps an eye on Rachel who is standing near the music system, surrounded by friends. Rachel had asked one of her friends to perform as a DJ tonight. Thus far, she has not come over to greet House. It was obviously uncool to be seen with people older than twenty, and the two of them had just nodded at each other from afar.

Cuddy keeps buzzing around, stopping here and there, chatting with new guests or saying goodbye to ones who came early and brought small children they need to get home and into bed. Eventually, she walks over to House and sinks down next to him on the couch with a sigh. "Oh God, it feels good to sit." She cranes her neck. "I'm not equipped for this anymore. You think anyone will notice if I just sneak into my room and go to sleep?"

He smirks. "Probably the couple who just snuck in there for some play time."

She looks at him with wide eyes. "Are you serious?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Isn't that what empty bedrooms at parties are there for?"

She shakes her head, mildly annoyed. "Oh well. Remind me to throw out my comforter tomorrow." She sips on her drink and settles against the cushions. "So, what did you find out?"

He is not sure what she means and looks at her quizzically.

She gives a general nod towards the crowd of people.

"Ah." He scratches his head. "See the kid in the white hoodie, standing about six feet behind Rachel?"

"The skinny one with blond hair?"

"Yeah. He has the hots for her. But she has no clue, because she only has eyes for the DJ."

Cuddy chuckles. "Which teenage girl doesn't, right?"

"And that's definitely not apple juice in their cups."

"Yeah, I figured they'd been sneaking beers. I saw two of her friends walking like monkeys, trying to hide the bottles up their sleeves." She imitates them with her arms swinging stiffly from side to side and laughs. "Are you keeping an eye on them?"

"You're asking someone with the responsibility level of a 6-year-old to break the groove of partying 16-year-olds?" Cuddy smirks, raising her eyebrow. House turns earnest and gives her a brief nod. "I will. By the way, Mr. Marco Polo over there—" He points his head towards his left, where a middle-aged man in a shirt by that brand is sipping on a glass of wine. He is listening to a woman about his age standing next to him, looking bored.

"Dr. Albert?"

"—he's cheating on his wife."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Saw him vanish into the bathroom about half an hour ago. Shortly followed by a member of Sarah's club of the hot nurses." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Oh my God. I always thought they were happily married."

"They are. She is cheating on him, too."

Cuddy's jaw drops for a second. "Did she also vanish into the bathroom?"

"Not yet. But she's definitely on the lookout." They both observe the couple for a few moments. "Trust me, if she only had eyes for her husband, she'd notice him sneaking away for over fifteen minutes and return with a smug smile on his face."

"Maybe she thought he took a successful dump," Cuddy jokes, and he feels the corners of his mouth lifting.

"By the way, he wouldn't say no to _you_ following him into the bathroom."

Cuddy looks at House with a doubtful but amused expression on her face.

"I noticed him repeatedly check out your ass. Him and three other people, actually," he states matter-of-factly. "At least thus far. The list might get longer as the alcohol level rises and social conventions plummet to the ground."

"Who?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"Dr. groomed and well manicured over there, with a stick so far up his ass I'm sure he only ever touched a woman wearing gloves."

Cuddy turns her head in the direction House is looking and starts to giggle. "That's actually our head of pathology."

House chuckles. "Then, there's that young and horny first-year intern who came here with her boyfriend, but only to prove to herself and to the world that she's straight, and deny her secret crush on you."

Cuddy follows his gaze again and catches the young woman House is talking about staring at her. The woman's face turns into an embarrassed grin when she realizes she got caught. Cuddy smiles back at her before she turns toward House again. "Wow! I had no idea."

"Number three is also at least twenty years too young for you. That shy guy, with glasses and a tweed jacket. No doubt he's a huge Harry Potter fan."

"Yeah, that's Dr. Harrison. He's our new oncologist." She seems to have been aware of his infatuation with her.

"He persistently stays within a twenty feet radius of you, hoping to get your attention."

"He's new in the city, new at work. He just misses his mommy." Cuddy finishes her drink and leans forward to set it down on the coffee table. He is surprised when she leans back into the cushions with a sigh.

"So, you're done with your first round of small-talk and letting everyone get their fair share of you?" He had assumed she was just checking in with him briefly and would rush back to being a good hostess, making sure everybody's glasses were filled.

"For now." She gives him a small smile and slips out of her high heels. She pulls up her knees sideways so her feet dangle off the edge of the couch, her whole body turning toward him.

"I was the last one on the list?"

Her eyebrows furrow, and she looks at him mildly puzzled. "You weren't on the list," she states hesitantly.

"Hm." House focuses his gaze on his leg and rubs it gently, all humor gone from him. "I'm sure everyone watching us thinks you only invited the lone gimp doctor out of guilt, and now that you did, rules of politeness dictate you to talk to him."

His statement increases the baffled expression on her face. "If anyone _was_ watching us, which I doubt because they're all way too self-absorbed and busy with their own appearance, they saw me laugh with you more than with anybody else tonight." Her face softens and her voice rings with concern: "What's this about, House? You don't actually believe I only talk to you out of pity?!"

He looks at her, his eyes sad and sincere. "No." He hangs his head, not quite sure what to say to her. "I guess I was projecting." He sighs, searching for words. "You know I hate these gatherings. All the hypocrisy, pretentiousness, acting to the social norm… Parties are so much more fun when intoxicated. It's easier to ignore all that B.S. Easier to fit in. Pretend to be a normal and happy and decent human being." He never meant to be this bitter and is unsure about his sudden mood switch.

Cuddy seems similarly perplexed by his admission, but recovers quickly and reaches for his hand. "House… You are smart, funny, and interesting to talk to. Just because half the people in this room can't keep up a conversation with you doesn't mean you're awkward. Or an outsider." She raises her eyebrows at him, underlining her point. "Go talk to Rachel. I'm sure she'd love to know about the boys who have a crush on her. Also, Mr. stick-up-his-ass has some interesting ideas about growing and implementing brain matter that you could trash. And, if you want, be my guest to trick Mrs. Albert into a visit to the bathroom next time her hubby is in there, canoodling." She smiles and squeezes his hand gently before letting go.

"Wow, you are seriously giving me the green light to destroy a marriage?" He pretends to be outraged, but enjoys her suggestion. "You really are a fun drunk. Thanks, Mommy." He gives her his evil grin.

"Speaking of bathrooms…" she says, sliding her legs off the couch and stepping back into her shoes.

"You want any company? I could give little Harry Potter a small hint."

Cuddy laughs. "No, thank you. I don't need a fourth kid in the house." She picks up her empty glass as she gets up and gives him another smile. "Now, go play."

He follows her advice and tries to enjoy himself. He joins John and his friends playing poker, pointing out their tells and weaknesses in order for them to improve their bluffing skills. He plays them for real money, and one of John's friends must have been pumping his mother for some cash, because at some point an outraged woman waltzes into John's room.

"Are you playing poker against fifths-graders, snatching away their money?" She is meticulously dressed and tries to look younger than her age—her hair bleached, her body trimmed—carrying her nose up high. Her expression is serious and indignant, and House concludes she has absolutely no fun in life.

"I am teaching them a valuable lesson. Don't you agree they should learn, early on, that in a gamble for money, in all likelihood, it will be gone?" He gives her his 'duh'-face. "Hah, I even turned it into a rhyme. Makes it easier for them to remember." He nods towards the boys.

The woman has no retort and just stares at him, dumbstruck. "Does Lisa know about this?"

"Oh, come on, seriously?" he groans, but she has already turned on her heels and is storming off to rat him out.

As expected, Cuddy shows up about three minutes later. "House!" She stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "Talk to you for a minute? In the hallway?" Her eyebrow shoots up.

"You're in trouble," John mouths to him, looking somewhat amused. He is probably glad it hit House and not him this time.

House gives him a worn look. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me for a tiny moment. The mistress needs some handiworks," he says to the bunch as he pushes his chair back and gets up from the table.

Most boys look puzzled, some of them are grinning.

Cuddy steps out into the hallway; he follows her. "I let you out of my sight for ten minutes and you're turning our son's room into a casino?" she hisses.

"You said: Go play!" he reminds her cockily.

"As I'm sure you know, New Jersey state law prohibits underage gambling. What are their parents gonna say when they hear their kids lost all their money to you?"

"Oh, would you give me a break? Stakes were as high as two quarters. Little Tom over there—"

"Tim," she corrects him.

"—who, by the way, I think should get tested for a brain malfunction, lost like five bucks, max. The kid gets ten times as much pocket money. Each _week_."

She sighs, and he can tell she is not truly mad at him. "I told Charlene you were planning on returning it at the end, which I'm assuming you're not."

"A lost gamble is a lost gamble. I have principles."

"Then let her son win back the money he lost," she suggest, trying to come up with a solution.

"_Let_ him win? I just said—"

"Fine, do what you want, I don't even care. Think of something, don't think of something. So what if John is out one friend by the end of the night. It's not like I'll miss listening to Charlene preach about the virtues of a vegan diet." She looks at him and adds: "Just make sure this doesn't accumulate to more than one lost friend. Unless you want him to end up like you." With that, she turns around and heads down the hall.

"Words can hurt, you know?" he calls after her.

She spins on her heels, a smile spreading across her face. "I'm going dancing!"

He makes a deal with the boys to refrain from asking their parents for money, and serves as their bank instead. Around 11pm, most of them are too tired to continue playing. House makes sure the ones who are sleeping over brush their teeth and the ones who are not find their parents.

On his return to the living room, he intercepts Rachel on her way to the kitchen, and she looks happy when she sees him approaching her. She seems slightly tipsy, but not too drunk to raise House's concern. He informs her about her admirer, and they share a laugh about Mr. stick-up-his-ass, who has by now hit the dance floor and is displaying some interesting moves.

Eventually, he ends up back on the couch to rest his leg, and Sarah and some of her friends join him, taking a break from dancing. He chats with them and occasionally checks out Cuddy.

To his surprise, she at some point comes up to him and holds out her hand.

He glances at her suspiciously.

"You owe me at least one dance," she claims, hinting at his loony casino idea.

He hesitates for a moment, but then lets her pull him up and into the crowd.

He manages to keep up with her for about three songs before the pain in his leg becomes too severe to ignore. Just when he is about to tell her, the music switches to a slow song rather abruptly. The movement on the dance floor halts for a moment and everyone is looking around, slightly perplexed. It is the first slow song playing tonight, and most heads are turning towards the DJ. House sees Rachel at the control panel, giggling with her friend. Cuddy is looking in the same direction, a suspicious expression crossing her face. Around House and Cuddy, pairs of twos are beginning to form, and people start moving again.

Cuddy grins at him sheepishly.

"We don't have to…" he proposes, giving her an easy out. "I'm sure Potter would be more than thrilled to jump in."

"My birthday, my pick," she states decidedly as she moves closer to him. She looks happy when she raises her arms and interlaces her fingers behind his neck. He sneaks his left arm around her and rests his hand on the small of her back. He needs his right hand on his cane for support.

She smiles her big smile, and he remembers the last time they danced this way. "What were the chances of this happening again?" he asks as they slowly sway from side to side.

She laughs. "Odds worse than Vegas? I wouldn't have bet a dime on it." She is still joyful, but her expression turns solemn.

"Yeah," he agrees, his mood dropping slightly as well.

"House, I still owe you an apology." Her voice is gentle and serious.

He looks at her expectantly, unable to guess the reason.

"I shouldn't have kept John a secret from you for so long." She takes a few deep breaths, holding his gaze intently.

He raises his eyebrows. "Morally, you were definitely far down the toilet," he taunts her. He has not been holding a grudge against her and had, at no point, expected an apology.

"I know," she mumbles, taking him seriously. She lowers her gaze guiltily and focuses on his chest. "I was way out of line." She presses her lips together, and tentatively meets his eyes again. "I'm glad you're a part of John's life now. You are a great dad! To him and to Rachel."

He lets her off the hook. "I appreciate the sentiment, but it's unnecessary. I assaulted you; you protected yourself. And your offspring." He shrugs. "Natural instinct."

She tilts her head. They both know he is downplaying her actions.

He is willing to let it go, though. She has forgiven all of his shit, and he had given her at least as much. "It was a win-win, actually. You protected me from all the crying and nagging. Never had to change a diaper. I'm getting only the fun parts."

Cuddy smiles weakly. "So we're okay?"

"Yeah. Of course."

She moves closer to him and rests her head against his shoulder. For the first time tonight, it dawns on him that _he_ might be part of the reason for her current state of joy, and it frightens him a little. He has no mental capacity to delve into this train of thought, however, because his pain distracts him. Holding her close and feeling her warmth has kept his mind from the throbbing in his leg, but he has to stop moving about halfway through the song. He has pushed this too far already.

"What is it?" she asks, sensing his discomfort. She pulls back from him enough to see his face.

He bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying to fight the aching flames that shoot up his spine and completely block his thoughts. "It's my leg," he presses out through gritted teeth, his breath shallow and uneven.

Cuddy looks concerned. "You need to sit down?"

"I think I'm gonna head home, lie down."

"You can stay here if you want," she offers.

"You have guests," he objects. Cuddy's best friend from New Haven came down and is staying in the guest-bedroom with her husband for the night. "And the couch is kinda occupied."

"Right." Cuddy drops her head, thinking for a moment. Then she comes up with an idea: "Take my bed," she suggests. "I have to be the last woman standing, anyways. I'll just sleep on the couch when everyone's gone."

He is about to decline her offer when he thinks of the long walk to his car, doubting that he will make it. "You sure?"

"Absolutely! Go! You have your toothbrush, your PJs… There are ear plugs in the drawer of my bedside table."

"All right," he nods. "Thank you."

She leans into him once more to wish him a good night, her lips briefly brushing his cheek.

"Good night, birthday girl." He manages to give her a small smile before he heads towards her bedroom.

House is relieved when he sinks down onto her mattress, snuggling under the covers. He reviews the events from the night in his mind, listening to the noise outside the room: the dull beat of the music; the chattering. Cuddy had been exceedingly flirty, and he is not sure whether this was merely due to the alcohol or something else. He does not quite know what to make of her unexpected apology, either. Then he forces himself to drop all thoughts about her, and decides that it did not matter either way.

He focuses on the comfortable sheets and the smell of her, and waits until the pain in his leg subsides enough to finally drift off to sleep.

A few hours later, he wakes up with a jerk because there is someone in the room with him.

"It's only me," Cuddy whispers. She is holding her cell phone in her hand, the lit screen creating tiny rays of light. He sees her by the chest, rummaging through a drawer. "I just need some PJs. Go back to sleep."

"What time's it?" he asks groggily, wiping his eyes.

"About three o'clock. The last guests left half an hour ago."

House turns on the light on the nightstand, wanting to see her better. He squints his eyes. "I can switch to the couch. You take your bed."

She pushes the drawer shut and turns around, a stack of comfortable clothes pressed against her belly. Her hair and makeup are down, leaving only her dress as a remainder of the night. "Don't be ridiculous," she utters. "Just go back to sleep." She crosses the room and is about to reach for the door handle when she thinks of something. "Oh, but since you're up…" She walks over to him and gives him her back. "Would you mind…?"

At first, he does not know what she is referring to; then he sees the zipper of her dress starting at her neck and running down to the small of her back. He sits up and pulls it down halfway, not wanting to expose her more than necessary. He thinks she can reach the last part. His heart speeds up slightly, but he is thankful his hands have not started to tremble in the action.

"Thanks," she mumbles. Instead of heading for the door, she turns around to him again, her expression serious. "House." She pauses for a beat, her eyes downcast. "How come you never touch me?" She is still clutching onto her clothes, thus keeping her dress in place.

He looks at her quizzically. "Either you suffer from selective memory loss or your dictionary has a different definition of the term." He pushes his body backwards on the mattress so he can lean against the headboard. "I undid your dress five seconds ago. We _danced_ tonight. We would have given quite the picture…" He holds out his arms as if he were hugging a big gymnastic ball, the circle he is creating big enough she could stand in it without any body contact.

She rolls her eyes at him and sits down on the mattress. "I meant out of your own volition," she clarifies.

He is uncertain about the motive behind her question and about what to respond. He shrugs his shoulders. "I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable with it."

She cocks her head, her eyebrows rising. "I touch you all the time. Do you mind?"

"No." He feels slightly cornered by her question. He could act like an ass and insult her; use words that would hurl her out of the room, fast. But it is late, both their guards are down, and it was her birthday, after all. He swallows hard and decides to go with the truth. "It might be hard to stop."

She takes this in for a moment. Then, in a quiet and cautious tone, she asks: "What if I don't want you to stop?"

If he was not sure before, he definitely is now. She has opened the door far and wide for him, presenting him a huge invitation. For a fraction of a second he contemplates whether or not he should walk through. After a beat he gravitates towards her. He closes his eyes as she meets him halfway, their lips touching gently. His mind shuts off, and he is drowning in the sensation of her. She feels so soft.

Their kiss quickly intensifies, all his pent up emotions for her spilling into the kiss and into his groin. He pulls her by the nape of the neck to draw her near to him. He is greedy for her, hungry to taste her skin, and everything seems to be happening in a rush. She is already sitting on his lap, straddling him, and he pulls the zipper of her dress down all the way, his hand coming to rest flat against her bare back, pressing her body against his.

_(Author note: For those of you uncomfortable reading about sex, skip to the next LLLL-line.)_

His desire for her has grown over the last few months, and all his suppressed feelings are coming loose. He draws the straps of her dress from her neck over her shoulders and down her arms, causing her shivers. Although he had certainly fantasized about it numerously, never in his wildest dreams had he imagined she would let him touch her like this again. He pulls the front of her dress down to her belly, exposing a black strapless bra and more of her white, meticulous skin. He plants gentle kisses on her chest and then her shoulder, his lips tracing a path up to her neck. She reacts with a gasp as her fingers slide under the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it up on both sides. He lifts his arms and lets her take it off him.

His hands roam all over her body as his lips try to cover every inch of her skin, drinking her in. She stands up on the mattress, her feet planted on either side of his thighs, so he can free her from her dress. Her hips are so close to his face he can actually smell her. He cannot resist running his hands up her smooth calves, tickling the hollow of her knees briefly, and continuing their way up, his thumbs brushing over the soft skin of her inner thighs. She hisses when his right thumb continues its journey upwards and slips inside her panties. He finds her wet center and takes some of the moisture to grace her clit. He rubs it briefly, invoking another gasp, and pushes the fabric aside further to gradually slide two fingers inside her. He rests his other hand on her hip to steady her.

She buries one hand in his hair, gripping it tightly. "Oh God," she breathes as his fingers slowly glide in and out of her. Her other hand is pressed flat against the bedroom wall. "House."

Cuddy eventually stops him by lightly brushing his hand, and he lets go off her so she can take off her panties and sink back down on the mattress next to him. "Lift your hips," she whispers and pulls on the waistband of his PJ pants, showing him what she wants.

He presses his hands down on the bed, doing as told, and she slides the fabric down to his thighs. She straddles him again and kisses him deeply, her tongue slipping into his mouth. He is so aroused he hisses a sigh of relief when she finally touches his penis, giving it a firm squeeze. She searches his face briefly before she lifts her hips and guides him towards her center.

She sinks down on him tantalizingly slowly, her breath coming out in short puffs against his neck, and he is glad she is the one on top: He is not sure he would have had enough constraint, and might have ended up being too rough with her. He moves one hand to her butt and one to her hip, urging her to move. When she does it feels so damn good he thinks that somewhere angels must be rejoicing; he looks up at the ceiling to check. To his brief dismay, it only takes about two or three rolls of her hips before her breath quickens and he feels her walls convulsing around his penis.

"Oh my God," she gasps, panting into his ear. "I'm sorry." He feels her lips on the cartilage of his conch. "It's been so long."

"Don't ever apologize for that," he assures her. "Every guy who gets a woman to come in less than ten seconds feels like a total rock-star."

She laughs into his neck, still out of breath.

He glides his hands over the sides of her torso and reaches up behind her back, feeling for the clasp of her bra. He wants her naked, and only has refrained from removing it thus far because he thought she might get self-conscious about it. Now that she came already, he gives it a shot and unhooks it.

"House," she protests, warning him mildly. He was right. Her upper body tenses and she presses her arms against her sides, holding the garment in place.

"I know," he tries to ease her. "Breastfeeding and everything." He pushes her back slightly so he can see her face. "You are a massive turn-on," he assures her, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Like, blow-my-brains-out hot."

She exhales deeply and relaxes, her lips turning into a small smile, and she lets him slide off her bra. He cups her breasts from below, his thumbs circling her hard nipples. She closes her eyes and starts to move again, but only briefly. Apparently having changed her mind, she dismounts him, crouches next to him to pull his pants off completely, slides down under the blankets, and tugs on his hand, gesturing for him to follow. She parts her legs and guides him on top of her, wanting him to take the lead. "Come back inside me," she whispers as her hand travels up his back and cups the nape of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

He does not need to be told twice and slides his way home.

"God, you feel so good," she mumbles.

"Right back at ya." He was thinking the exact same thing. Knowing that she is enjoying this, he lets go and finds a rhythm that brings him so much pleasure he is soon the one groaning into her neck. She pulls up her knees, her feet leaving the mattress. Her breath is coming out in short puffs, and he knows she is close. He traces one hand over her thigh and follows the curve of her neck with his tongue, and she comes undone again. It takes him two or three more strokes, and he bites into her neck to muffle his sounds as his orgasm hits him as well.

"Holy shit," she exclaims. He hears the smile in her voice. She rakes gently through his hair and caresses his back while he waits for his breath and heartbeat to return to normal. He eventually slides out of her and rolls onto his back, pulling her with him. "That was incredible." She grins at him before resting her head on his armpit, her fingers playing across his chest. "I think I actually passed out for a second."

"Happy birthday again," he smirks and reaches over to turn off the lamp. His hand returns to her back, and he gently strokes her there.

"This was my birthday present?" she mumbles affectionately.

"If I had known this was happening… Would've saved me a trip to the store."

"I'm taking both." She kisses his chest and nuzzles the skin covering his ribs.

"Get some sleep," he whispers, running his fingers through her hair. "John and the boys will be up in less than four hours."

"Yeah." He feels her lift up her head to look at him in the dark, and he thinks she is about to say more, but she settles it back down on his shoulder. "Good night, House."

"Good night, Cuddy."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

House wakes up about two hours later. Cuddy is fast asleep, her warm body pressed against his. He has his arm draped around her torso, and he tries not to move, wanting to hold onto the moment.

After a while, he steals himself from bed, goes to the bathroom to pee and to put on his clothes. Then he sits down on the edge of her bed, thinking and waiting. His chin is resting on his cane, which he holds between his legs.

He is unaware of how much time passes before he hears bed sheets rustling behind him. "House?" Cuddy asks sleepily, confusion ringing in her voice.

He refrains from turning around completely and only gives her his profile, staring at the headboard. He doubts he will be able to verbalize what he is about to say whilst looking at her.

Cuddy props her head up on one elbow. "Why are you dressed?"

"I'm on my way out," he says quietly.

"Why? What's the matter?"

He waits a beat, tracing a thumb over his forehead. "This was a mistake," he mumbles, still unable to face her.

For a moment all he hears is her breath. "What?"

Shaking his head slowly, he tries to elaborate. "Us. A relationship. It's a bad idea."

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her scrambling into a sitting position, her back leaning against the headboard. The sheets are bundled up under her armpits, and she draws up her knees protectively. Her voice matches her vulnerable posture. "You don't wanna be with me?"

That was beside the point. "I don't want us to screw this up."

He hears her taking in a deep breath. "House, this is different. We're different. You're not my employee anymore, and we're not just experimenting being a thing. We have a child together. Two children, it feels like. We're family now."

"All the more reason not to jinx this," he counters, unconvinced by her argument. "The stakes are too high."

"You're scared," she states matter-of-factly. "I understand. So am I, but—"

"Exactly!" he interrupts her, getting impatient. "And our feeling of fear is a functional warning. It's telling _me_ not to risk this. Why would I give up something that _I know_ works great—for everyone involved—for something that I know _for certain_ hasn't worked in the past?"

"Is this you getting back at me for breaking up with you?" Her words sound bitter.

"God, no!" He cannot believe she would assume that. "You really think I'm that petty?"

She sighs, her hand coming up to rub her forehead. "House," she says, her voice turning gentle and empathetic, "I'm not going to dump you again."

He looks at her for the first time, a feeling of longing and sadness rising up in him. "You can't promise me that," he says quietly. "Same way I can't promise you I won't do anything insane again if you do." He hangs his head low, a sensation of defeat spreading in his chest. "You're not convincing me this time, Cuddy."

She fails to come up with a retort, and seems to realize that she already lost a battle she did not have any real chances of winning in the first place. "Why did you sleep with me if you'd already made up your mind?" He hears tears and hopelessness in her voice.

"I shouldn't have," he admits, feeling like shit. "I got caught up in the moment." He looks at her again. Pain is written all over her face. "Like I said, it's hard to stop… touching you."

She scoffs and raises her eyes to the ceiling, obviously regarding his statement as outrageous and pathetic. Tears are rolling down her cheeks.

He cannot stand seeing her like this any longer, so he gets up with the help of his cane. "I'm sorry," he states weakly in her direction before he turns away.

In a last, desperate attempt she whispers: "House, please don't do this."

But he does. He leaves.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29: After the Birthday**

House refrains from going to the house the following week and tells the kids that he has a case and needs to work late into the nights. He gets no message from Cuddy, so he assumes that she is still upset.

On Saturday, he drives over to pick up Rachel and John to take them bowling. Cuddy is out shopping for groceries when he arrives.

On their return, she is either still gone or avoiding him, because she fails to show up and greet them when they enter. He is tired of not knowing where they stand, so he searches the house for her.

The door to her room is slightly ajar, and he enters without knocking. She is sitting at her desk, working, not looking up as he approaches cautiously. He exaggerates clearing his throat.

She still shows no reaction.

"So is this what it'll be like now? You don't talk to me anymore?" He stops halfway into the room, keeping his distance.

She slowly takes off her reading glasses and looks up at him. "What did you tell the kids?" Her voice sounds detached and measured.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Busy week."

"Then we should come up with something. They'll start asking questions." She plants her lower arms on the desktop. "We'll say we had a fight. About money, or whatever. I want more support, you disagree."

Her suggestion confuses him, regarding both logic and substance. "Why would you want more money?"

"I'm not saying I do, I'm just saying we should give them a reason."

"If you want to sell them a fake story, make up something realistic. They're not idiots. And besides, why do we even need a fake story?"

"Do you want to tell them the real cause for why things are weird between us?"

"No, I want us to get past the weirdness. Don't you think that a week is plenty of time to get over the fact that there was a night of great sex between great friends who didn't end up together? Scratch the sex part and we move on to being great friends again." He acts light and aloof, because he desperately needs things to go back to the way they were. He needs her in his life.

She looks at him with raised eyebrows. "Right," she says sarcastically, "it's that simple."

He wants it to be. "Actually, I wouldn't mind keeping the sex part, but I'm assuming that's not an option."

She stares at him blankly. "Get out," she commands.

"Oh, come on," he says with slight desperation in his voice. "I've apologized! What else do you want?" He looks at her helplessly, wishing she could give him an easy solution on how to fix this. "I don't really see the harm done here."

Her face hardens. "House, get out! Now!"

He hangs his head in defeat, and tries to come up with something he mighty say to improve the whole situation. Failing, he leaves.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

The following week, the kids start bugging him about why he is not coming over to see them, and he keeps deferring them to Cuddy.

House picks them up Saturday evening for dinner and a movie. On their return, Cuddy is asleep on the couch with papers scattered across her lap. Several of them have slid off and are lying on the carpet.

John picks them up and puts them on the coffee table when she startles awake. "Oh hey, you're back." She scans the room briefly, and sits up. Leaning forward, she kisses John on the side of the head. "How was the movie?"

"It was good. Dad fell asleep right in the middle, so Rache put popcorn up his nose. It was _so_ funny."

"It was gross!" Rachel chimes in. "He ate it after snorting it out."

John laughs.

House shrugs. He is standing in the doorway still in his coat, about to leave again.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good time," Cuddy mumbles, rubbing John's back. "Now go get ready for bed, okay? It's late."

The kids glance at each other and from House to Cuddy, obviously picking up on the tension between them. They refrain from commenting on it, though, and simply tell them good night before leaving for their rooms.

"House, can we talk?"

House believes there to be hardly anything left to say, but he nods anyways. He takes off his coat and sits down on the couch a few feet away from her.

"I've thought about this a lot, and to be honest, I'm still having a hard time understanding it. Please explain to me again why you are not willing to give this another chance."

He runs his knuckles across his forehead, his other hand fiddling with his cane. "Because it's a slim chance. Chances are higher that this isn't gonna work." He pauses briefly, contemplating his words. "We were always good at being friends. We sucked as a couple."

She takes this in for a moment, chewing on her lower lip. She obviously wants this to be a mature and reasonable conversation, and also considers her words carefully. "We're better now. Better than we've ever been. This has been going great for over three years now."

He agrees with her. "Which undermines my point."

"How can you be so sure this'll start going south if we were to try this?" Her voice is calm. She sincerely wants to take his perspective and comprehend his logic.

"Because it usually does. It's the typical phenomenon. Once people feel safe in a relationship, they loose control over themselves. They get fat, sluggish, disrespectful."

She tries to lighten the mood. "Obesity can be an issue, but not a reason for a break up. The kids will surely keep you on your toes, and you're already disrespectful." She gives him a small smile, which he cannot reciprocate.

Instead, he turns even more serious. "You know me. I sabotage my relationships; I push people away. Intentionally and unintentionally. I self-destruct." He rubs over his missing thigh muscle. "My leg might get worse. I might go back on drugs. I might end up letting my pain out on you and the kids."

Cuddy shakes her head. "You don't know that."

"I know the past. And I know my current pain level. The number of bad days I'm having…"

"House, unless you're gonna start abusing me or the children, there's nothing you can do or say to make me leave you." She stares at him intently, and he knows she means it. The same way she meant it when she told him she did not want him to change—but then she did.

He shakes his head. "People generally enter a relationship _not_ intending to leave the other person. Otherwise, what's the point? And you know how cruel I can be with words." He pauses to look at her face for a moment. "I know how to hurt you. I know how to hurt the kids. And at some point, when it gets too bad, you'll be forced to leave me. For self-preservation." He wishes things were different. He wishes he were different. That he were better.

Her chin drops and she pinches her nose, obviously struggling not to cry. "So, how exactly do you picture this?" She focuses on her line of arguments again, fighting her emotions. He can practically hear the internal prep-talk she must have given herself before this: 'Convince him with logic. Don't cry.' "You want us to pretend to just be friends? You want us to start seeing other people?"

He swallows hard, averting his eyes. "I won't. I'm an old cynical misanthrope with a limp. But yeah. You're free to, you know, do whatever. Relive your twenties." He has considered this likely scenario, and it is the worst aspect of his decision. He is not happy she has brought it up. "Meet every Dick, Clark, and Kenny there is out there."

Cuddy stares at him in disbelief. "And you'd be okay with that? Me dating, being in a relationship with someone else?"

He shrugs. "I won't like it, but it beats the alternative."

"When the alternative is _being with me_?" She raises her eyebrows at him.

He exhales impatiently. He obviously means a possible blowout between them, and refuses to answer her question.

She is still shocked by his suggestion, but tries to paint his picture. "So on Thanksgiving, Christmas, the kid's birthdays… there's gonna be the five of us: The kids, you, me, and my boyfriend?"

Of course he hates the idea, but he would rather be a part of their lives in this capacity than not at all. "I'll be like the stray homeless dog you give shelter to every once in a while. I'll pretend to be your B.F.'s friend, and you'll appeal to his sense of guilt. 'Oh, but he has nowhere else to go…'." He mimics a high-pitched voice and a sorrowful facial expression. "I'm sure he'll have pity on me. If not, you picked a prick and should dump him."

She smiles at this, but more out of exasperation than humor. "House, this is insane! Are you even listening to what you're saying?" Her voice is becoming loud and despairing. "I don't want to be with anyone else, you idiot. I want to be with you!" Again, there are tears in her eyes. She looks at him beseechingly, her eyebrows furrowed. "I'm in love with you!"

He cannot hold her gaze, and as much as he relishes in hearing those words, they also increase the melancholy and hopelessness he feels. He looks down at the floor, his head moving slowly from side to side. Very quietly he says: "You were last time. It wasn't enough."

He hears her exhale, frustrated and desperate. She has reached the end of her rope. She sits there with hunched shoulders, her arms hugging her torso as she tries to grasp the fact that he really means it; that any attempt to change his mind is bound to fail. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her finally loose the battle against her tears.

Her sorrow opens something inside him, and he tries harder to make her understand; to make her see why he is acting this way. "Cuddy, I don't have the necessary coping skills if this doesn't work. You'll be fine. You'll move on, find someone new. You'll still have the kids, the house... I'll either blow myself up, or—" his eyes trace around the room, "—all of this." Their home and the warmth she created in it encompass everything good in his life. "I'll end up with nothing."

She waits a beat and swallows hard before she takes a big leap. "What if we got married?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, and at first he thinks he misunderstood.

He looks at her with wide eyes. Did she just propose to him? He is holding his breath, gaping at her, expecting her to add that she was kidding. She just stares back at him, though, awaiting an answer. After taking a couple of short breaths, he decides to ignore her proposition and mock her instead. "Because we live in the sixteenth century and divorce hasn't been invented, yet? What is that supposed to change? Give me a fake sense of security?" He knows that he is being cruel, that he is hurting her. He is not sure at which point exactly their conversation turned into a fight. He feels the need to defend himself. "You said it yourself: I'll always put myself first. It's who I am. And you know why? Because when I was a kid, nobody else did. I had to, in order to survive. And that's exactly what I'm doing now." He is almost shouting. "I cannot go through that again!"

Cuddy is openly crying at this point, tears streaming down her face, and she stares ahead into the distance, her mind shutting down. "I guess there's nothing else I can say." Her voice is cracking, and she bites down on her lower lip to stop it from quivering. "I think you should go home."

House lets his eyes travel around the living room. This is his home; she is; the kids are. He hangs his head and stomps his cane on the carpet several times, pondering what to do. He gets up slowly, but cannot bring himself to leave her like this. She looks so lost and heartbroken. "Cuddy," he tries again, his voice gentle and caring. "You're acting as if I'm rejecting you. Can't you see that I'm doing this because I _don't_ want to lose you?"

She puffs out a breath of air and shakes her head from side to side. She glances up at him, a broken smile crossing her face. "That's not what it feels like." Her words sound despairing, and she barely manages to get them out without bursting into tears. She turns her head away from him, clearly signaling him to leave her alone.

Not knowing what else to say, he picks up his coat and walks out the front door. It is freezing outside, but he refrains from putting the coat on. He feels nothing.


	30. Chapter 30

_After all that heaviness, here's something a little sweeter (for the weekend ;-)). _

_This is to everyone out there who is stuck in bed with the flu or a cold or any other illness. Get well soon!_

**Chapter 30: House Is Sick**

It is Friday evening, and House is lying in bed, sick. Last Sunday, he caught a mean form of a flu virus, and has spent five consecutive days in bed, unable to go to work. He cannot remember the last time he felt this shitty, incapable of doing anything. All he does is sleep, sweat, wipe his nose, and occasionally make a trip to the bathroom. He feels disgusting, his skin having turned sticky and itchy, but he has no energy to change his clothes regularly, let alone take a shower. His bones are aching and his nose is permanently clogged up, which builds up so much pressure in his head he thinks it will eventually explode.

It has been two months since Cuddy's birthday, in which they have barely spoken to each other. They mainly correspond about banalities, or to exchange information about the kids. To House it feels as if they might as well not be talking at all. Since their last discussion, Cuddy completely closed off to him, and all her walls come up whenever he is around—as if she was in need to protect herself from him.

The kids had been partially eavesdropping on their conversation, so Cuddy gave them a short and probably adultery free version of what happened. She must have told them not to interrogate House about it, because thus far they have not brought up the topic.

On Wednesdays, House leaves work early and picks them up after school. They spend time together at his place until he drives them home after dinner. At the weekends, he tries to make plans with them outside the house. The times he does go over, he mostly stays in either of the kids' rooms to play with them or read over a homework assignment.

He is frustrated, both with their situation and with his cold, wondering when it will all let up—he hardly registers any improvement.

He was in no shape to pick up the kids this week, and he texted them this afternoon that he will not be able to see them tomorrow, either.

He knows he needs a lot of fluids, but the water reservoir he had piled up next to the bed is empty, and he is too weary to get up. He contemplates to just limp to the bathroom and drink from the tap, when he hears someone entering his apartment. For a moment he worries that he might be getting robbed and considers his chances in a fight. Coming to the conclusion that he would definitely lose, he decides to just stay put, and hopes the intruder or intruders will refrain from bothering him.

Then he hears the clonking of familiar heels on the floorboards in the hallway, approaching his bedroom.

"House?" Cuddy knocks gently on the door that is slightly ajar, and pushes it open. "Hey." She gives him a tight-lipped smile when she sees that he is awake. "The kids said you were sick." Her voice sounds empathetic and distant at the same time.

"Go away," he croaks. "You don't want what I have." He is actually happy to see her, but he really would feel bad if he were to infect them all.

"I work at a hospital," she says as she steps into the room. "I'm surrounded by sick people all day. Every day. I have a well functioning immune system." She carries several bags, which she sets down by the side of his bed.

"You'll spread it to the kids," he mumbles, already out of energy to argue.

"I'll scrub before I leave." She inspects the room and he realizes what a mess he has created. His used tissues are piling up in and around the waste basked, his worn clothes are strewn all over the floor, empty bottles and plates fill up the space on his night table and on the floor next to the bed. She sniffs the air, looking disgruntled. "When was the last time you opened a window in here?"

"Breathe through your mouth. It's what I've been doing." His voice sounds odd to his ears. His eyes are starting to burn, so he closes them.

"Are you running a fever?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"You haven't checked your temperature?" She sounds displeased.

He suddenly feels her cold fingertips brush over his forehead, and he opens his eyes in surprise.

"What difference does it make?" he asks weakly. She has not been this close to him in weeks, and he enjoys her proximity.

"You feel clammy," she mumbles. "You don't look good at all." She vanishes into his bathroom and returns with a mercury thermometer, which she wordlessly shoves into his mouth. "If it's too high, I'm admitting you."

"It's just a virus. It'll pass," he downplays, but he is grateful for her concern. He is relieved to know she still cares about him; that she is not upset enough to let him down when he needs her.

"I brought you chicken-broth and some other stuff. If you want, I can heat it for you."

He nods and closes his eyes again.

She picks up her bags and some of the empty plates to carry them to the kitchen. He listens to her bustling around: lighting up the stove, turning the faucet on and off, emptying the dishwasher.

On her return, she carries a tray with a plate of soup, a thermos filled with tea, and a glass containing a milky, brownish looking fluid. "Sit up," she orders gently, and he struggles to lift up his torso, scoot back on the mattress, and lean against the headrest. The tray has folding feet, so she places it over his thighs. "What did the thermometer say?"

"Burnin hot, of course," he jests weakly, picking up the spoon, and blowing on the steaming liquid. She has added some noodles to the soup. "I'm fine," he reassures her. "What's that?" He nods towards the glass.

Not trusting him, she checks the temperature last recorded in the digital unit of the thermometer. Seeing it, she seems satisfied. "I squeezed some orange juice. You need the vitamins. I added some milk and honey so it won't hurt your throat."

While he eats, she tidies up his room. She puts his clothes in the laundry, takes out the trash, refills his bottles with filtered water, and stacks his nightstand with fruits, juices, and little healthy snacks she has bought for him. She was also thoughtful enough to bring him more tissues and some lozenge to fight his sore throat.

When he is finished with the soup, she removes the tray and returns it to the kitchen.

"There's some more of the broth left on the stove, you can re-heat it tomorrow." He opens his eyes to find her standing in the middle of the room. Her work is done. She is about to say goodbye.

He nods. "Thank you."

"Do you want me to change the sheets for you?" she offers.

She has really done enough, more than he expected her to, and he is about to decline, but a part of him wants to hold onto her, wants her to stay a little longer. "That would be great."

"Okay," she exhales carefully, and walks up to him, handing him his cane. "Let's get you to the couch." She folds back the sheets and helps him up by supporting him under the elbows. He gets a head rush, so she pulls his arm over her shoulder to provide him some stability. Slowly, they start making their way towards his living room. "God, House, your sweater is completely soaked," she notes as she runs her hand over his back. "And you stink! You want me to draw you a bath, maybe?"

He shakes his head. "I can hardly sit up long enough it takes to poo."

They continue walking to his couch. She sighs as she releases him onto it. She dons several blankets over him before she leaves to change his sheets.

He nods off while she is in his bedroom, and wakes up again on her return. She sets down a bucket of steaming water on the floor beside him.

"What are you doing?" he asks as she pushes the blankets down, uncovering his chest.

"You can't go to the bath, bath comes to you." She pulls on his shoulder. "Sit up for a sec." He does, and she takes off the scarf he has been wearing the entire week. "The sheets will reek again after five seconds if you lie in it like this. Your hygiene matches that of Frankenstein's monster." She drops the scarf on the floor and pulls on his sweater. "Arms up!" she demands, and sheds layer after layer of clothing off his torso. "Lay this way," she instructs, gesturing him to face the back of the couch.

He hears water dripping as she wrings something out. Then he feels a wet and warm wash cloth touch his left shoulder. She applies some pressure and carefully runs it over his neck and shoulders before she continues down his back. At first he feels odd to be washed by her like this, then he closes his eyes and relaxes into the warmth and the caress. She occasionally dips the cloth back into the bucket and wrings it out, renewing the heat. She rinses his arm and the side of his torso he is not lying on before she dries him off with a towel and tells him to roll over.

Turning around to face her, he is overwhelmed by her proximity and the intimacy of the moment, so he closes his eyes and keeps them shut as the cloth travels over his chest and belly. "When I'm old and in a home, will you come be my nurse?" he tries to lift the heavy mood. He gets no reaction to his comment, so he keeps his mouth shut while she washes his other arm and the rest of his torso.

It feels as if she is reviving him, making him clean and new and unscathed. He takes in several deep breaths.

When she is done, she drops the cloth into the bucket, and uses the towel again to dry him off.

Something soft and sticky touches his chest, and his eyes flutter open.

"It's an ointment. It'll help relieve your congestion," she explains softly. She applies it with a cotton ball onto his chest in circular movements. "Works miracles on the kids."

The smell of the oils is so strong they actually trigger the buds in his nostrils.

She sets the cotton ball on the table and helps him back into a sitting position to put a clean T-shirt and a clean sweater on him. There is a bag lying by her feet, from which she pulls a pink scarf. "Rache told me to give you this," she says as she wraps it around his neck.

"Her 'get-well' scarf." House smiles briefly. Rachel had it since her pink phase, and only still wears it when she is stuck in bed with a cold.

"Yeah." Cuddy motions for him to lie back down. She covers his torso with the blankets before lifting them up on the other side, uncovering his legs up to his knees. Sitting down on the coffee table near his feet, she peels off his socks and pushes his PJs up so she can scrub his calves and feet with the washcloth. "I'm gonna let you take care of the rest," she elucidates, her right hand waving over the area of his thighs and his groin.

"What if I can't?" he jokes in a whiny voice. He actually feels a little relieved.

"Call one of your many hookers. Or the hospital; hire an actual nurse." She dries him up and puts clean socks on his feet. "Lift your hips," she demands as she pulls on the rims of his PJ pants. He hesitates briefly, but since he is completely covered by layers of blankets, he does as told. She pulls the pants off and puts a new pair on him until up to his knees. She covers him again with the blankets and leaves for the bathroom, his worn clothes tucked under one arm, expecting him to mange the last part without her.

He does, and when she returns he has struggled into a sitting position, ready to go back to bed. She walks him to his room, which she has aired out and turned into a place he feels comfortable in again. On his pillow, a little stuffed penguin awaits him, which he recognizes.

"John says hi, too," Cuddy remarks.

He sinks onto the mattress, relieved to lie down again, relishing in the clean sheets and the soft pillow. He pulls the penguin close to his chest. For the first time in days, one of his nostrils clears up, and the air streaming in and up his nose canal immediately relieves some of the pressure in his head. "Thank you," he tells her. She stands by the side of his bed, pouring him a cup of tea. "I feel reincarnated. Not that I believe in any of that crap."

She nods briefly. "Do you need anything else?"

He looks at her for a beat. 'You,' he thinks. He realizes how much he has missed her in the last two months. He wants to ask her to stay, at least until he falls asleep. He gets as far as pulling out his arm from under the covers, but then stops himself from patting the empty space on the mattress in front of him. One of the reasons is that he has already taken so much from her. The other is that he worries she might deny him. "I'm fine," he murmurs, studying her face closely. He wants to hold onto her image as long as possible.

"Okay." She sounds tired. He can see that she is not happy.

She turns to leave and is almost out the door when he calls out to her quietly. "Cuddy?"

Her posture implodes briefly, her shoulders and chin dropping, before she turns around to face him again.

"I never meant to hurt you," he mumbles. He feels bad for how it all went.

She draws in a shaky breath, and a look of sadness spreads across her face. She pulls in her bottom lip.

He understands her pain, but feels powerless to alleviate it.

They hold each other's gaze for a while. Eventually, her expression relaxes a little, and she slowly walks back to him. "I know," she says softly as she sits down on the bed and takes his hand, which is still lying on top of the covers as if in wait for hers. "I know," she repeats, her other hand settling on his upper arm. "Get some rest, House."

He stares at her and squeezes her hand.

She searches his face and senses his reluctance to let go. The hand resting on his arm lifts and comes up into his vision. Her fingertips touch his temple. "Close your eyes," she whispers.

After a long beat, he does as told.

Loosing his sense of sight only intensifies the feeling of her fingers, which brush gently through his hair. He relishes every second of the moment, her hands functioning like balm for his soul. He has missed her touch so much. He misses her smiling face, too. Most of all, he misses their banter and her friendship.

He thinks he might be telling her some of this as he starts to drift off to sleep, because he hears his own voice travel through the room and back to his ears, but he cannot make out the words anymore before he finally looses his hold on consciousness.


	31. Chapter 31

_Hello lovelies, I hope you're all well and making the best out of the current situation. _

_Enjoy the chapter! _

**Chapter 31: Kids vs. Parents**

The tension between House and Cuddy ceases slightly after his renewed apology, but they stick with the routine of House picking up the kids once a week after school and once at the weekends. Seldom, she invites him to stay for dinner, and she continues avoiding his proximity.

Shortly before the summer break he hears from Rachel that Cuddy started dating. Obviously trying to keep the details away from the kids, Cuddy either stays late after work or goes out on Saturdays when House is with John and Rachel, and she makes sure to always return alone. House feels uncomfortable about the topic and never encourages Rachel to inform him, but she seems eager to share any sort of news about Cuddy's love life with him, so he lets her.

House is out shopping with John on the Saturday before school restarts. Rachel had no interest in joining them, so House and John spend a fabulous father-and-son day in Princeton, indulging in their shared interests. They visit a music store that sells instruments and special equipment, a video game shop where they try out the latest PlayStation releases, and they have milkshakes in the park. They also run by Wal-Mart to buy notebooks and other equipment John and Rachel need for the new school year. Cuddy had texted House a list for John the previous night; Rachel had texted John a similar list around noon—she figured that since they were out anyways, they might as well obtain her stuff.

House and John wind up the day with dinner and a movie, and return to the house quite late. When they enter the front door, House hears yelling inside. John had mentioned that Rachel and Cuddy had been fighting rather regularly lately, but House had not pictured it to be this bad.

"You just don't want me to be happy," House hears Rachel shout as he enters into the living room, carrying the bags. John follows on his heels.

Cuddy and Rachel are standing in the middle of the room, tense and on edge, snarling at each other like hyenas. Neither of them seems to notice him and John entering, or they are simply reluctant to be the first to break eye contact, unwilling to leave the respective opponent out of sight.

"That is absolutely ridiculous, and you know it!" Cuddy's face is on fire, her eyes flaring. House remembers this side of her well and sympathizes with Rachel.

"You're afraid that he might actually want me. That I'll get out of here, and be gone. That I'll leave you, too." In a flash, House's sympathy vanishes.

That was definitely a mean blow, and it hits Cuddy hard. Her face falls, and she stumbles backwards as if she had been hit. "Wow!" she says with her eyebrows raised, but she composes herself and shoots back: "And what exactly do you think I'd be missing? You telling me every day what a horrible mother I am to you?"

They are taking each other down, and House is about to intervene when Rachel screams: "I hate you!" and rushes out of the room, slamming the door to the hallway behind her.

The three of them stand there quietly for a moment, staggering in the silence after the storm, until House clears his throat. "That was quite some entertainment."

Cuddy turns towards House and John, her shoulders slumping and all the tension leaving her body. "Welcome to Rachel versus her mother, round 231." Her tone is dire and sarcastic. She walks towards them slowly. Looking at John, she says quietly. "Sorry you had to witness that, honey. Again." She runs her hand through his hair. "Did you and your dad get everything you need for school on Monday?"

"Yup." John holds up the bag containing his stationary. "And we got a capo for my new guitar."

"That's great. Whatever that is." She gives him a weak smile. "You wanna go put your stuff in your room and get ready for bed? It's late."

"Okay. You gonna come read to me?" John asks.

"Of course. Just call me when you're ready." Her voice is sweet but very tired.

House takes the moment to study her more closely. He has not seen her in a while. The kids were at camp over the summer, and he could not think of an excuse to go over and check in on her. She looks stressed and weary. What concerns him most is that she lost quite some weight.

John bumps fists with House and tells him goodbye.

"Have fun Monday," House says, rubbing his knuckles over John's head. "When anyone kicks you, kick back!"

"Okay," John laughs and ducks away, heading for his room. "Good night."

House turns to Cuddy who stands with her head hanging low, looking defeated. "You think we can sue the school system?" he tries to lighten the mood. "I'm not too familiar with curricular milestones, but after five years of schooling, shouldn't he be able to read by himself?"

She stares at him blankly. "I'm going to read him a bedtime story as long as he wants me to."

House shrugs and changes the subject. "Those were quite some low blows." He nods towards where Cuddy and Rachel were standing while fighting, trying to sound casual. "Not that I wasn't cheering you both on internally."

"I know," she admits. "I'll apologize to her later. I didn't mean what I said." She shakes her head. "It's just… She drives me insane sometimes."

House walks over to the coffee table and sets down the bag holding the things they bought for Rachel.

"She knows exactly where to poke a sharp stick," Cuddy continues. "And lately, it seems to have become her new hobby." She sighs. "She is so angry."

House shrugs and sits down on the edge of the couch, needing to rest his leg. "She's a teenager. It's her job to drive you nuts."

"I know that, and things have been ugly before, but since she came back from camp, it's become so spiteful. You heard her: She hates me." Cuddy shakes her head helplessly. "We used to be so great together."

"Oh come on, every mother gets those words thrown at her from her adolescent child at some point," he downplays their dispute. "I know it goes against your nature, but stop making this about you. You're not that special!"

"Gee, thanks! I'm sure your mother has heard it plenty," she looks at him with spite.

"And yours hasn't?" he retorts calmly.

Noting the truth behind his words, she remains quiet for a beat, and her expression turns less hostile. "Well, she deserved it. She was a—" She stops herself, realizing that she was about to call her dead mother names. "—a monster. She manipulated me and everyone who was part of my life intentionally."

"Every teenager thinks that. And every parent will assure you they only had the best interests."

Cuddy has no response to that and simply stands there, looking lost.

"Don't take this so personally," he says more gently.

She sighs. "Easy for you to say. You're still her number one hero."

House shrugs. "Out of the two of us, I _am_ definitely the cooler stud."

She looks at him, annoyed.

"Plus, absence makes the heart grow fonder," he offers, trying to appease her. "She is just taking it out on who's available. If I were around 24/7, I'm sure she'd hate me, too."

"She misses her old friends," Cuddy elaborates. "She saw some of them again at camp. I think it was hard for her. She accused me of having moved her away from them."

House squints at her. "I thought that was a family decision."

"It was! She claims I didn't leave her a real choice but to say yes." She wraps her arms around herself. "She knows it was so we could be closer to you. 'Well, see how that turned out.'"

House hangs his head with guilt.

"Those were her words, not mine," she clarifies.

At this moment, John calls out for Cuddy. "Mom, I'm ready!"

"All right, sweetie, I'll be right there," she hollers down the hallway before she addresses House again. "By the way, Rache is gonna ask you to give her driving lessons. According to her, I'm too impatient and hysterical."

"She has a point," he teases. "You'd be cool with that?"

Cuddy throws her hands in the air helplessly. "Be my guest. I'm not going to force her into a car with me." She turns towards the hallway. "Thanks for taking John out today."

"You don't have to thank me for spending time with our son," he says sincerely. "I don't thank you for unnecessarily reading to him. Or for having wiped his butt until he was able to do _that_ by himself."

She raises her eyebrows at him as if to say 'It wouldn't hurt if you did', but holds her tongue and heads for John's room. He makes a mental note to maybe buy her flowers for Mother's Day next year.

House waits a moment after she is gone, turns on the water boiler in the kitchen, picks up the bag for Rachel, and follows Cuddy down the hallway. He is on a mission. First he makes sure Cuddy is in John's room, reading. Next, he presses his ear against Rachel's bedroom door. There is no sound behind it, so he quietly hangs the bag on the handle in such a way that it will drop down and make noise if she were to open it. Lastly, he sneaks into Cuddy's bedroom: the actual scene of his crime. He searches it for pills because he is worried she might have fallen back into old habits. Remembering his favorite hiding places, he systematically goes trough her drawers, night tables, dark gaps behind furniture, and pillowcases. He is relieved to come up with nothing but dust and an interesting collection of vibrators.

On his return to the living room he also skims through her purse, which she has dropped next to the couch, finding nothing more serious than Advil.

When he hears her footsteps approach from the hallway, he quickly steps into the kitchen, pulls out two mugs, equips them with tea bags, and pours the hot water over them just in time before Cuddy turns the corner.

"Making you some tea," he explains as a reaction to the quizzical look she gives him, which silently asks why he is still here.

"That's… nice of you," she says slowly, seeming suspicious. "I get two?"

"Didn't know which one you'd want," he shrugs. He used two different flavors. "Now you get to pick." He places both mugs on the cooking island in front of her so she can check the labels. The second one was actually meant for him—if she were to let him stay for a little longer.

She squints at him, trying to figure out whether he was up to something. He keeps a straight face, and she eventually gives up trying to figure him out and decides for a mug.

"Care to share what your fight with Rache was about?" He actually has an idea, but is unsure about whether she is willing to confide in him. "Who might want her?" He holds his breath.

Cuddy hesitates for a moment, and he assumes she is pondering whether or not to open up to him even more than she already did tonight. She pulls in her bottom lip, then sights heavily as she sits on a stool in front of the cooking island. Without looking at him, she pushes the other mug in his direction before her hands close around her own. He releases his breath, heaves himself up on the other counter so that he sits at a perpendicular angle to her, and rests his head against the door of the cupboard behind him.

"She wants to get in touch with her father."

This is what House has expected. "You are legally bound to conceal this information, but Rache knows you have his name, and now you're the bad guy for getting between her and her fantasy super-dad."

Cuddy's jaw drops slightly, astonished about his insight. "Yeah. Did she talk to you about it?"

"Nope. It's not exactly a story unheard of: An adopted child wanting to know whose sperm and egg ended up together and turned into them." Rachel had asked him a year ago if he had gotten to meet her biological parents. He had denied it, which was not a lie, and told her that his team and Cuddy had mostly handled her birthmother's case.

"I've explained to her numerously that the process was confidential. That her father and his parents insisted on an anonymous adoption, and that I could get sued for giving out his name." Her hand travels to her neck to rub out some of the tension. "But she's convinced he'd be delighted to see her, and I'm the one standing in the way of that."

Before, House would have offered to massage her shoulders. Now he only watches her fingers kneading her muscles. "Did it occur to her that this road actually goes both ways? That _if_ he had wanted to get in touch with her, he could have called the hospital and asked to speak to you?"

"I told her that, but to no avail. She figures that he might just be too afraid of a rejection; that he might feel too guilty to reach out." Cuddy sighs heavily and buries her face in her hands. "She is so stuck on the phantasy of a happy union she dismisses my every argument."

"Again, not an uncommon story. Teenager feels treated unjustly, rebels, idolizes other people slash lifestyles, dreams of a better future, a better place…" House sips on his tea.

She turns her head out of her hands to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Better than here?" Her voice is low and rumbling. "Because I'm such a monster?"

"Why are you taking this so personally?"

She rests her lower arms on the counter, her eyes focusing on the steaming tea. "I guess I was hoping that if I handled this well, if I was a good enough adoptive mother who provided her with everything she could possibly need, she wouldn't yearn for… I don't know…" She searches for words. "Someone who loved her more?!" She seems to be near tears.

"Christ, Cuddy," House exhales in irritation, shaking his head. "Your goddamn perfectionism and your need to succeed are spiraling way out of control." She furrows her eyebrows at him, looking slightly perplexed about his coarseness. "And they are completely misplaced!" He raises his voice a notch, but still feels calm and controlled. "You really wanna measure your abilities as a mother on a rollercoaster scale of teenage drama and hormones?"

She hangs her head again, remaining quiet. Lost in thought, she sips on her tea. Eventually, she raises her eyes to his, a beseeching expression crossing her face. "I can't do it, right? Give her the name?" His opinion is clearly important to her.

"Not unless you want your daughter scarred for life. And a mortgage on the house. Because her coward of a father is definitely gonna sue for a shitload of money."

"How can you be so sure?"

House had actually seen the whole situation coming, and hired a private investigator last summer to find out Simon's whereabouts. Once he had an address, House spent three consecutive days following and observing Simon in New York City, obtaining information about his character and living situation.

House has no intention of sharing his knowledge with Cuddy, though. "The guy obviously had the morals of an octopus, and that's probably an overstatement and an insult to all octopuses. He scratched a girl from his list of friends because _she_ was the one getting pummeled, sold her tons of booze to fuel an addiction, and then pretended to be her secret boyfriend so he could bang her. Boy, he must be on the edge of his seat to finally share his spilled over love and compassion with Rache."

Cuddy stares at him in surprise, wondering about his familiarity with the story regarding Rachel's birth parents. Then it dawns on her. "You know, don't you?" she whispers.

Damn. He should have kept his mouth shut. He forgets sometimes how well she knows him. For a second, he considers denying it. Then he gives her a small nod.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims incredulously, trying to keep her voice down. "How could you not have told me?" She looks at him with wide eyes.

House remains relaxed. "You're a horrible liar, and you fold easily. Rachel knows how to pressure you," he states matter-of-factly.

"Oh God." Cuddy presses her hand against her forehead, fighting to get a grip on herself. "So, it was bad?" She turns her head to search his eyes, holding her breath. "What you found out?"

He shrugs. "He's a lawyer in NYC. Works sixteen hours a day, has an attractive blonde and two little boys who he hardly ever sees. He's still the snobby rich kid he used to be, with absolutely no room in his life, and I doubt he told his wife about the fat girl he knocked up in high school, let alone the child she gave birth to before she died."

Cuddy starts to tear up, and shakes her head in defeat. "Shit." She thinks for a moment, her fingers rubbing her forehead. "How did you even get his name?"

He puffs out some air and tilts his head, throwing her an expression of self-evidence. 'Did she really need to ask?' he thinks. 'We're talking about the father of her child.' After it became clear Cuddy would adopt, House had, of course, interrogated his team about all the details, especially regarding family members.

She nods understandingly, still slightly astonished. "What if we told her this? What you found out?"

House shakes his head. "She's not gonna believe it. She'll want to see for herself." House had already considered the option and decided against the idea. Rachel could be unbelievably stubborn. "So, either you let her make that experience, a rejection that will probably haunt her for the rest of her life, or…"

"I continue to be the bad guy," Cuddy finishes for him, sounding sad and helpless.

"Yeah," he nods. There is nothing he can think of to improve the situation.

They sit in silence while they finish drinking their tea.

When he is done, House slides off the counter. "She won't always long for a better place. It'll blow over. She'll grow up."

"When?" Cuddy looks so desperate and miserable he wants to touch her, caress her back, but is too afraid she might flinch away from him.

"A year. Maybe two."

"Can you induce me into coma until then?" she jokes weakly.

"I've occasionally had that same fantasy," he quips, which at least gets him a small smile. "I'm gonna head out."

She nods. "Okay."

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From then on, House stops by their place more regularly again. He and Rachel arrange to meet twice a week so he can teach her how to drive. He usually goes there straight from work and combines his visits with cooking dinner. When Cuddy is there, he insists for her to sit down and eat with them; when she returns late from work, he reheats a plate for her and makes her comprehend that eating was not debatable. He also regularly checks her room for anxiety meds and sleeping pills.

Cuddy and House coordinate their schedules such that the nights he is at the house do not collide with her date nights. He could not stand watching her dress up and get ready for another man. Also, he would not want to sit there and imagine what she was doing as the hours passed by and it was getting late.

The constant battle between Cuddy and Rachel ebbs down a bit, and although Cuddy seems more comfortable around House again, things remain strained.

This is also reflected in Cuddy's decision to spend Thanksgiving at her sisters', aware of the fact that House is not welcome at their place. He is not sure whether she is doing it out of spite or whether she just cannot help herself.

They also refrain from celebrating Christmas together. On Christmas Day, the kids are at home, and go over to his place in the afternoon. Rachel received her license on her birthday a couple of weeks earlier, and Cuddy lets the kids borrow her car.

House tries hard for the three of them to have a good time, but all of his efforts fail, and they sit rather gloomily than gleefully at his table after dinner.

"So, who's up for dessert?" House makes one last attempt.

Rachel and John both decline.

"All right," he sighs, "what's going on? Did the Christmas Grinch storm your house last night?"

"Mom has a boyfriend." Rachel finally discloses. "Ethan." She makes the same face she does when she eats something bitter or otherwise distasteful. "She made us meet him last week." Her voice sounds far from thrilled.

House attempts to stay diplomatic. "Well, it's nice for your mother to have someone. You should try to be happy for her." He is amazed by the shallowness of his phrases. Not even _he_ believes a word of what he is saying, and is surprised by the hypocrisy flowing from his mouth.

"Mom has enough someones," John declares. "You, me, and Rachel. What does she need Ethan for?"

"Yoga poses?" House offers. "And by yoga poses I mean—"

"Ugh, stop," Rachel interrupts him. "No pictures, please."

John looks from House to Rachel. "Well, he's weird!"

"He was probably just nervous," House downplays their concerns. "You two can be quite nerve-wracking. Give the guy a chance."

"He's a complete douche!" Rachel agrees with her brother.

House shrugs. "As long as he makes your mother happy, you'll—"

"Mom's not happy," Rachel cuts him off. "She's just… less unhappy." She fiddles with her fork and looks down at her empty plate when she quietly asks: "Why did you shoot her down?"

House drops his head into his hand. He does not want to have this conversation with them. "Because it wouldn't work. We've tried. And, unlike the majority of morons out there who seem to make a sport out of repeating their mistakes over and over again, I tend to learn from mine and accept reality."

"Doesn't learning from mistakes include trying again? Do better next time?" John suggests. He could be such a smart-mouth sometimes, and House is usually proud of this character string, but right now all it does is annoy him.

Wondering whether they were being obtuse intentionally, he explains it to them slowly. "Your mom and I have known each other since her first week of med school. We were friends for years. It wasn't always ponies and roses, but everything was good. Until we decided to have a relationship. We lasted for a few months. After that, I blew it, and we didn't speak for almost a decade. You really think this is worth giving it another shot? You'll both be out of school next time we talk to each other again, Rachel even out of college."

John seems uncertain for a fraction of a second, but then asks: "Don't you love mom?"

House sighs again and hangs his head. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Rachel exclaims. "Isn't that what everything is always about? Every movie, every poem, every song on the radio?"

House is turning angry and defensive. "Seriously? This is your great argument? Mainstream Hollywood triteness and meaningless bullshit cranking from the radio?" Why did they have to corner him like this? On Christmas, for all sakes.

Rachel looks hurt and fails to come up with a retort. Eventually, she reveals information he thinks she had initially meant to keep to herself. "She said she asked you to marry her," she whispers.

House is shocked for a second. He cannot believe Cuddy would share this snippet of their conversation with the kids. And completely out of context. "That's just fantastic!" he says sarcastically, his eyes rolling up towards the ceiling.

"She didn't really mean to tell us," John defends his mother. "She was upset."

"Because we refused to meet Ethan," Rachel adds.

House can perfectly imagine the scene, Cuddy crying helplessly in front of the kids. Of course they would be siding with her. "Why does it always have to be all or nothing?" he asks impatiently. "There is no happily ever after! You see it with your friends' parents all the time. They either don't have anything to say to each other anymore, and everyone sits mutely at the table, staring at their cell phones. Or they are divorced, hate each other's guts, and also don't talk anymore." He rubs his leg, tired of the discussion. "Why am I an ass for taking the middle ground here? Doesn't it count for anything that I value my friendship with your mother?"

Rachel and John both hang their heads, not looking at him. "You're not friends anymore," Rachel says quietly, sadness ringing in her voice. "Not really. You're this close to talking about the weather." She holds up her hand, leaving a tiny space between her index and her thumb. "She's completely closed off to you."

House sighs heavily. Rachel has a point. "It will get better." He tries to sound confident, but apparently fails to convince them: Rachel rolls her eyes at him, and John actually looks as if he might start to cry.

"It's been almost a year," Rachel points out.

House intently hopes that he is right, that their relationship will keep improving, albeit slowly. He has no idea what else to do. "Maybe not this Ethan guy, but once she has a permanent boyfriend and we all have our roles straight, it will be easier to be friends again."

"We don't want her to have a boyfriend!" John protests.

House sighs. "Well, this is one of the major lessons we all have to learn in life, and better sooner than later: You can't always get what you want."


	32. Chapter 32

_This chapter wasn't planned at all, and I've been working on it this week. Thanks to my nice Guest for giving me the idea._

_Sorry to hear that some of you are deeply stressed because of the Corona virus. Hang in there! Glad I can provide a bit of distraction._

**Chapter 32: House Meets Ethan**

The turn of the year is uneventful. House pretends to spend it at Foreman's place although he remains alone in his apartment, Rachel and John stay with friends, and Cuddy goes out with Ethan. The kids seem to have accepted Ethan as part of Cuddy's life, or at least they resigned from fighting his presence.

House, Cuddy and the kids go car shopping for Rachel in January. Rachel wants both House and Cuddy to help her pick—they are also the ones helping her finance it—so they make it a family event, checking out different car dealers one Saturday morning. Parts of the trip are still filled with awkward silences, but they do manage to have some fun together. The kids, at least, seem to be enjoying it, and by the afternoon, Rachel is the proud owner of a maroon Sedan.

House drives back to their house with Rachel where he parked his car in the morning; John rides with Cuddy. Rachel pulls into the driveway just as John and Cuddy are exiting her car. Rachel parks to the left of her, so when House opens the passenger door, he is immediately confronted with Cuddy.

"Ethan is coming over for dinner tonight," she tells him.

"And you informing me about it can only mean that either you thought I was hoping for an invite and this is your way of politely rebuffing me, _or_ you're actually asking me to stay." He shuts the car door loudly.

The kids observe them for a moment, seem to nonverbally agree to leave House and Cuddy alone, and head for the entrance.

Cuddy takes in a measured breath. "The latter."

House squints his eyes at her. "Wish I could. Got a big supper planned. Eight course meal. And a mariachi band."

She briefly rolls her eyes towards the sky. "So you never wanna meet him?"

"Why rush it? Anticipation triumphs over realization. I'm sure I'll eventually have the pleasure," House says sarcastically.

"Just say hi, so you at least know what he looks like," she suggests. "You don't have to stay for dinner. It'll be less awkward than running into him incidentally."

"It'll be awkward either way," House replies. "I've always been a big fan of avoiding feelings of awkwardness." Cuddy tucks her chin. She seems disappointed, but he cannot muster up the sympathy to care. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna mistake him for a stalker and strike him with a shovel when I see a stranger roaming around the house. I'll apply my deductive reasoning skills and assume it's him." With that, he walks to his car.

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Of course, House is ultimately forced to face Ethan. On a Friday evening in February, shortly after Cuddy's birthday, Rachel is involved in a local district debate competition with her team, which is being held at her school. House has been practicing with her—arguing being one of the activities he enjoys the most—and she insist for him to come despite the fact that Cuddy announced she would show up with Ethan.

Rachel needs to be at the school early, so House arranges to meet with the rest of them in the hallway at the entrance to the auditorium.

He is running a little late, and hurries his way across the parking space, putting too much strain on his leg. Inside the building, he briefly stops in his tracks when he spots Cuddy and Ethan in wait for him. John is nowhere to be seen.

House considers walking the other direction again when Cuddy lays her eyes on him. Slowly, he weaves his way through the people, limping up to them.

"Hey," Cuddy offers tentatively.

House nods at her, then he faces Ethan.

Ethan extends his hand to House. "Hi. Nice to finally meet you." He seems to mean it, smiling politely at House.

"Nice to meet me?" House raises his eyebrows at him, but takes his hand and shakes it briefly. "Did she not warn you about me?" He juts his chin towards Cuddy.

"No." Ethan furrows his eyebrows. "Why would she?"

House glances at Cuddy who casts her eyes to the floor. "Meeting me is typically not pleasant business. At least not for most people."

Ethan seems mildly confused, but continues in a friendly manner. "Actually, she barely talks about you. I couldn't wait for an encounter. John's dad!" He nods approvingly, almost filled with apprehension. "He's a cool kid. He looks just like you."

House is taken aback. This is going far differently from what he expected. They are both being way too nice. Ethan would undoubtedly loose in a 'Who can be the bigger prick?' contest; he would not even make it to the second round. "You have any kids?" House asks although he already knows the answer. He is stalling for time in order to recover from his perplexity.

"Nope. My ex-wife and me tried for years. Turned out she couldn't conceive."

"Let me guess: You stayed with her although you always wanted kids, and now that it's kinda too late she dumped you for a younger stud," House tries to mess with him and provoke a reaction other than politeness.

Ethan nods and openly displays his hurt and embarrassment, looking down at the ground.

"Boy, did she screw with you," House offers.

"We had good times," Ethan states neutrally. "I don't regret it."

House looks from Ethan to Cuddy and back to Ethan. 'He's the opposite of me,' House thinks. For a brief moment, he is reminded of Wilson. He makes a last attempt to disconcert the guy. "Well, if you ever want to have a good time with _her_," he tilts his head towards Cuddy, "I'd be willing to give you advice. I know how to make her scream."

"House!" Cuddy gasps, her eyes wide with shock.

"Thanks for the spontaneous illustration," House quips. "That came close." Turning to Ethan, he adds: "Sorry, I have the tendency to overstep conventional boundaries."

Ethan cocks his head and processes House's words with slightly furrowed eyebrows. With a straight face, he says: "No problem. Thanks for the offer, I might get back to you on that."

House quickly shakes his head from side to side as if to rid himself from his confusion. "Wow." He looks at Cuddy. "And I always told Wilson he was too nice for you."

Cuddy stares at him blankly.

"Well, I'm gonna head inside. It was a long walk across the parking lot." He gestures towards his leg.

"We'll wait here for John," Ethan states. "He went to get waffles."

"All right," House turns to leave.

"Your ticket," Cuddy stops him, her voice sharp. She rummages through her purse and holds a small paper slip out to him.

He snatches it from her wordlessly, and heads to the wing doors of the auditorium. He takes a seat in an empty row, and places his cane over three chairs to the right of him. Only a short moment later, John comes skidding down the row, sliding to a halt in front of House.

"Hey Dad," he smiles.

House takes a piece of waffle from the paper bag John is holding. The kids always seem eager to share their food with him, which actually makes stealing from them less fun. "Hey champ." House turns his head to check if Cuddy and Ethan are at his heels, but cannot see them anywhere. "Your mom's waiting outside."

"I know," John mumbles, his mouth full of waffle. "Snuck around them." He takes House's cane and swivels it with his fingers in the way House usually does. "So, what do you think?"

House squints at him. "About your cane handling skills?" he says, deflecting. He knows what John is getting at.

"You hate him." John stops playing and looks pointedly at House.

"I just met him."

"I was watching you guys. You hate him."

"He seems nice," House sidesteps.

"He's boring."

House smirks. "He has several common traits with a puppy."

"Like a little lapdog." John grins.

"Maybe we can still teach him how to go 'rough'," House barks, and quickly leans forward to snatch his cane back.

John laughs and sits down next to House.

The bell rings to announce the approaching beginning, and the auditorium fills with more people. Cuddy and Ethan eventually spot them and make their way down the isle and into the row they are sitting.

"Hey, where have you been?" Cuddy asks John, one hand brushing lightly through his hair. "We were waiting."

John shrugs.

"How did you even get in here without a ticket?" She sits down next to John. Ethan takes the seat beside her.

"Rache let me in backstage," he says cockily.

"How nervous is she?" Cuddy asks.

"She's cool. I gave her a pep-talk."

One corner of Cuddy's mouth lifts up, and she gives John's arm a squeeze. "That's sweet of you."

The lights dim, and the moderator steps up onto the stage.

House is mostly bored by the event and the tedious lines of arguments, and only listens with one ear to what is happening on stage. At one point, he actually pulls out his cell phone and replies to his team, who has texted him the latest results regarding his current patient.

Shortly before Rachel's turn, he shoves the phone back into his coat pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ethan placing his hand on Cuddy's thigh, and suddenly House's mouth feels dry. Out of nowhere, a hot and burning anger rises up in him, and he feels his pulse climbing. He had not anticipated the extremity of the effect it would have on him—to see her being touched—and he swallows hard, trying to avert his eyes. Yet, he cannot help but notice Ethan's thumb slowly brushing over the fabric of Cuddy's skirt. It hurts him so much his instinct is to jump from his seat and leave, but Rachel is up next, and she would definitely witness him storming out.

He firmly takes a hold of the armrests to the left and right of him, his knuckles turning white. The worst part is that Cuddy senses his distress, and instead of basking in his jealousy, she takes Ethan's hand and gently removes it from her thigh. Settling their arms in between them, they are still holding hands, but at least further out of House's sight.

Distracted by all the movement, John also picks up on House's tension. He slowly peels House's fingers from the armrest, and places his small hand in his, giving House someone to hold onto as well.

House looks at his son in wonder and gratitude, takes a deep breath, and sets his focus back on stage.

After the debate, the four of them wait in the hallway for Rachel. Her team won, and she eventually comes running towards them, throwing her arms around House.

"Good job," he mumbles into her hair. He is, in fact, proud of her. "You grilled the guy."

Rachel pulls back and beams at him. "Years of practice."

House smirks.

"You did great, honey," Cuddy chimes in on the praise. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Thank you."

House notes that the kids seem to be on his side, after all. They are standing to the left and right of him, keeping a slight distance to Cuddy and Ethan. She registers it as well, and a sad expression crosses her face. He thinks it is not really fair to her, since he was the one who decided against a relationship.

"I'll go get our coats," Ethan announces, heading for the checkroom.

House had not bothered to give up his, and stays put.

Cuddy addresses House. "We were planning on getting dessert somewhere. Celebrate a little." She hesitates briefly. "You're welcome to join us."

He looks at her for a beat. His wit has left him, and he wants nothing more than to head home. "Got a case. I'm going in early," he says, which is only partly a lie: He does have a case, but his team will be busy with tests all morning.

Cuddy nods, pressing her lips together.

"Have fun," he tells this kids, squeezing each of them briefly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye Dad."

"Bye House. Thanks for coming."

"Of course," he nods at Rachel, and makes his way to the exit without giving Cuddy another glance. Arriving at the doors, he realizes that it is pouring outside. He had neglected checking the weather forecast. It had been sunny and light out when he drove here. Now it is dark and raining heavily.

He takes in an annoyed breath and looks around the entrance, searching for abandoned umbrellas or anything else he could use to shield him from the rain. His coat has no hood, and his car is parked so far out he will be soaked by the time he gets there. Not finding anything but also unwilling to wait any longer, he looks up at the black sky, heaves another sigh, and pushes the door open with his cane.

The temperatures are just above freezing, and the rain hits him cold in the face. Once again, his inability deprives him, forcing him to go slow. His leg hurts, and he is afraid he might slip on the wet and slick asphalt. For the hundredth time, he wishes he could run. Feeling some beads of rain trail down his neck, he pulls his collar shut more tightly.

He has made his way about 20 yards into the parking lot when he hears a familiar voice call his name, and he turns around.

Cuddy hurries towards him, holding a big black umbrella above her head. She comes to a halt in front of him, slightly out of breath and blinking rapidly. She raises her arm up to shield them both from the rain. "Here," she says, lifting the handle to him. "We brought two. Ethan is getting the car for us." She nods her head in the direction they must be parked.

House stares at her and gives himself a moment to take her in. She is standing close, and he smells her perfume. Her big watery eyes are holding onto his, her long lashes occasionally dropping and swiftly rising back up. Her face is so comfortingly familiar.

He feels a drop of water fall from his eyelashes and run down his cheek.

In this moment, everything fades away—it is just him and her under the umbrella—the dark and the cascading rain acting like a buffer, secluding them from the rest of the world. Their breaths turn into fog, intermingling in the air between them. He wants to kiss her.

Slowly, he lifts his hand to take over the wooden handle. His fingers briefly brush hers in the exchange.

Her expression is open, sad, and caring. "What else can I do?" she whispers, her gaze intense.

He pauses. Without breaking eye contact, he shakes his head.

She exhales and drops her chin. She takes a moment to compose herself, and then looks at him again. "Thank you. For the flowers." He had a bouquet sent to her office on her birthday—without a note.

He nods courtly. "You're welcome," he mumbles.

She turns away and rushes back to the school building.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Back at his apartment, House's urge to get hammered is so strong he calls Foreman and asks him to come over and attach his electronic ankle bracelet. They have had this arrangement since after House's second imprisonment. Whenever House feels too unstable and is afraid of falling back into old habits, he uses the device as a form of protection. It is equipped with a GPS and, connected to Foreman's mobile phone, alerts him if House were to distance himself from his apartment more than 100 feet, thus providing outside control without constant watch.

An electronic bracelet had been a mandatory part of House's parole. Afterwards, House had bought one online and worn it voluntarily. Permanently at first, then only at the weekends, and even later just on bad days, for example, on Wilson's birthdays and the annual day of his death, when the pain in his leg was particularly cruel, or when he was upset about the loss of a patient. Foreman lives close, and never seemed to bother.

It has been a while since House felt the need for it, and Foreman is surprised by his request. "Everything all right?" he asks.

"Yup. Just precautions. Bad pain day," House replies into the receiver.

When Foreman arrives at his place to take the locking device with him and check the connection to his phone, he tries again to get House to talk. "I could stay for a while, beat you at the PS."

House shakes his head.

"You wanna crash on my couch for the night?"

"I'm a big boy. Plus, I've got my nanny right here." He points at the bracelet.

"What'd you do tonight?"

"Overdid it at basketball," House says sarcastically. "Caught too many rebounds."

Foreman surrenders, aware that House will not ask for his help again if he pushes him too far. "All right. I'll stop by on my way to the hospital in the morning. You going in as well?"

House nods.

"Okay."

After Foreman pulls the door shut behind him, House paces around his living room, trying to walk out some of the tension in his leg.

He takes a bath.

He massages his thigh.

Nothing seems to help.

Sitting on the edge of his bed in his briefs and a T-shirt, he stares at his scar. He hates the useless, mutilated limb. The anger he felt before rising back up in him, he starts to punch his leg. First only near his knee, below the damaged tissue, but then his hand wanders upward. Again and again, he knocks his fist down hard on his thigh, which increases the pain in his leg, and causes the muscle to cramp.

Yelping in suffering and frustration, he stands up, needing some sort of distraction and an outlet for his rage. Balancing his weight on his left leg, he takes his cane and, holding it in both hands like a baseball bat, he takes a swing and smashes it against the footrest of his bed. The wood cracks, which gives him a strange sense of satisfaction. He continues with the action, repeatedly smacking his cane against the bedframe until it breaks in two, and even then he keeps going, anger searing through his body. He is panting and starting to sweat. He screams while smashing the top part of his walking aid, busting it into pieces until only the handle is left in his hand. It reminds him of the umbrella he was holding about an hour ago, and he hurls the remaining piece against the door, producing a loud thud.

He stands in his bedroom breathlessly, his head hanging, his left fist clenched. There are splinters strewn all over the carpet and on his bed. His pain is so bad he sinks back down onto the mattress, bends forward, and picks up a sharp piece of wood. He pushes up his briefs on his left leg, inspecting the unscathed skin on his inner thigh. If he cut himself there, nobody would ever notice. He is desperate for the endorphins, needing any form relief.

Positioning the splinter on his thigh, he hesitates briefly, considering the irony of cutting his good leg with remnants of his cane. He thinks of Wilson and the promises he gave him: no suicide, no drugs. To not hurt himself was never part of the deal. House takes a deep breath. Then he hears Wilson's voice in his head: 'I don't know how many times I can watch you cut off pieces of yourself.'

He turns his head to look at the picture of Wilson and him, which is standing on his windowsill. To remind him of his promises, House had hung one of just Wilson on the wall of his living room, and placed this one in his bedroom.

Panting heavily and teardrops falling from his eyes, House struggles hard against the urge to inflict pain on himself in order to feel better. He grunts in agony, and drops the splinter back on the floor. He limps over to the picture, picks it up, and forcefully hurls it across the room. It crashes against the wall, breaking into pieces. "You left me!" House hollers at the shards.

His right leg buckles, and he sinks to the floor. Whimpering, he lies there as more tears run down his face. He is shaking, the pain becoming unbearable. He crawls over to the broken picture frame, reaching for a shard of glass.

Just as he is about to cut into his thigh, the door to his bedroom bursts open.

"House!" It is Foreman. He looks around the room in bewilderment. "Jesus, House!" He rushes over to him, and grabs the piece of glass out of his hand. "What are you doing?"

All House manages to get out is a grunt. He lies there gasping.

Foreman picks him up under the armpits and drags him over to the bed, pulling him into a sitting position on the mattress. "What can I do?" he asks, realizing the amount of pain House is in.

House shakes his head and covers his scar with his hand. He hates other people seeing it, let alone touch it. He tries to rub out some of the tension, but his entire arm is trembling badly.

Foreman pushes his hand away, and starts to massage his leg.

House cries out in agony, and although he feels pathetic and utterly humiliated, he lets Foreman proceed. House grabs a hold of the footrest with one hand, and leans back on his other arm, staring up at the ceiling. He breathes heavily, sweat trailing down his forehead. The pain becomes so bad he shoves a fist into his mouth and starts to scream.

After a seemingly endless amount of time, the cramping finally stops, and the throbbing in his leg ceases a little. When it ebbs down enough for him to form a coherent thought, he tells Foreman to stop, and crawls under the blankets to lie on his side, curling into a little ball. He feels exhausted.

Foreman brings him an Ibuprofen and water.

When the pill kicks in, House drifts off to sleep.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

The next morning, House wakes up in his bed, feeling beat but physically okay. He sits up carefully, using both hands to heave his right leg over the side of the mattress. Except for a few small splinters on his carpet, the evidence of his nocturnal acts of destruction has been removed. The photograph of him and Wilson is lying on top of several books stacked on his nightstand; one of his spare canes is leaning against the foot of his bed.

Slowly, House limps his way into the living room.

Foreman is sitting on the couch, talking to someone on the phone. He looks up when he sees House approaching. "He's up," he says into the receiver. "I'll call you back later."

House sits down at the opposite end of the couch. "Did you call Cuddy?"

"Not yet." Foreman looks at him probingly.

"It was a bad night. It's not gonna happen again," House reassures him, and actually means it. Cutting himself had been a horribly idiotic idea. He lifts his good leg onto the cushions, wordlessly asking Foreman to remove the electronic bracelet.

Foreman hesitates. "I won't tell Cuddy if you tell me what happened last night."

House thinks for a moment. "No," he says decisively, squinting his eyes. "I'm not telling you, _and_ you won't say anything to Cuddy. Because if you do, I'm not letting you put that thing on me ever again." House nods at the bracelet. He knows that he is being a jerk and that Foreman has good intentions, but he needs some form of control over his life, some sort of dignity. "And given how much pleasure it brings you to have occasional power over me…" He eyes his boss challengingly.

Foreman caves, looking disgruntled about the backfire of his attempted blackmail. Heaving a heavy sigh, he frees House from the bracelet. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he hangs his head. "House…"

Realizing that Foreman's motives stem more from concern than from his strive for supremacy, House opens up to him. "I met Cuddy's boyfriend last night." His voice is low and vulnerable.

"Oh." Foreman looks at him with empathy. "Sorry, man." He rises from the couch.

House is grateful Foreman leaves it at that, sparing him any well-meant advice and further lecturing.

"Well, I'm gonna head out." He walks over to the entrance. "You wanna come over for dinner after work?"

House shakes his head. "I've got the kids tonight."

"Okay." Foreman opens the door. "See you at the hospital."

"Yeah." Sincerely, he adds: "Thank you."

Foreman nods curtly, and leaves.


	33. Chapter 33

_at Steve: Who said that was the end of the story? Wouldn't leave you hanging like that ;-)_

_Due to the ban of social contact and the fact that the chapter was basically done already, you're getting it earlier than usual. Enjoy!_

_Btw, thanks for all the nice comments. There is nothing more rewarding than appreciation._

**Chapter 33: Rachel is Missing**

On a Saturday night in March, House wakes up at two AM because his cell phone is vibrating on his nightstand. He went to bed early, but is still groggy with sleep when he gropes for it blindly. "Yeah?" he asks without looking at the display.

"House!" It is Cuddy. Her voice is strained, and he sits up in bed, immediately concerned: She never calls him at this hour. "When was the last time you heard from Rachel?"

He wipes his eyes, trying to think. "Sometime this afternoon?! Why?"

"She should have been home two hours ago. I can't reach her." She sounds seriously upset. "An hour ago, I at least got a dial tone, now it's going straight to her voice mail."

"Let me check if she texted me." He puts on his glasses and looks at his display. He finds no absent calls or new messages. "No, nothing. Where did she say she'd be?"

"At a party. From that DJ guy. I told her to be back by midnight." Cuddy's voice is shaking. "This isn't like her, House."

"What do you mean by 'be back'? Did you let her drive?"

The silence on the other end tells him 'yes'.

"Are you insane? You let her drive to a party on a Saturday night?" He cannot believe the idiocy of it.

"She is always bugging me about how I spoil all her fun, and I thought it was actually the safest bet," Cuddy defends herself. "She wouldn't drink and drive; not after she just got her license and the car, she's not that reckless!"

House rolls his eyes at the ceiling, but realizes that blaming Cuddy was not going to help them. "Did you try calling her friends?"

"Yeah. The ones I reached are all at home or at their friends' places. Sarah said Rachel was upset with the DJ guy, and disappeared at some point." Cuddy swallows. "She also said she saw her drinking," she adds in a small voice, her fear ringing through.

House runs his thumb over his forehead. "Do you have DJ guy's address? Maybe she is still there."

"Yeah, of course," Cuddy breathes. "He actually left me a card at my party, the little snob. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You're hysterical," he says as he hurries out of bed. He puts her on speakerphone and starts to get dressed. "Blocks all rational thinking. Text me the address, I'll drive over there and check. Maybe I'll at least find her car."

"I'll go. I need to do something."

"No. You stay," he orders. He does not want her driving in her state of distress. He knows how poorly she deals with crises concerning family members. She would probably end up in an accident herself. "In case she comes home in the meantime," he reasons with her. "Call the parents of the friends you didn't reach."

"At two in the morning?"

"If one of them called you in the middle of the night because their child was missing, would you mind?" He grabs his cane, his coat, and his car keys before he heads out the door.

"Yeah, you're right." She seems to be near tears.

"And check her insta, and that of her friends. Maybe you come across a picture that'll give us a hint."

"I already did. There was nothing in the last three hours. But I'll check again." He hears her rummaging around, shifting papers. "Here, I found the address."

He turns his keys in the ignition. "Okay, shoot." She spells him the street and he types it into his navigation system. "All right. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Okay."

He pulls out into the street and is about to hang up. "Is Ethan there?" he asks in an afterthought. Not to torture himself, but because he wants someone with her.

She hesitates. "No." Her voice is quiet.

"Why not? I thought that's what B. F.s were there for. To hold hands in rocky times. Be useless."

She sighs. "Things haven't been going well, lately. I told him to go home."

"Huh." He considers telling her that he was sorry, but it would be a flat-out lie. He tries to reassure her instead. "No need to freak out, yet. She is probably back on the dance floor and forgot the time. Get a grip."

She sniffles her nose. "Okay."

He hangs up.

When he arrives at the address, the house is illuminated, but nobody opens the door for him. He spots an integrated camera by the doorbell. He goes around back and forces his way in through an open window. He is clearly unwelcome. Inside, there are many under-age people drinking, and several glance at him with hostility, probably worried he might be a threat to their fun and call the cops. Weaving his way through the crowd, he is glad he is the one here and not Cuddy.

After checking several rooms, he finally finds the host of the evening. He is dancing with a girl about Rachel's age. House steps up close and interrupts them, tugging hard on the guy's shoulder. "Where's Rachel?" he yells at him. The music is loud and droning, drowning out all other sounds.

"Who the hell are you?" DJ guy tries to brush off House's hand. His eyes protruding and red rimmed, obviously having had too much to drink. The girl scatters away from them.

House digs his fingers into the guy's shoulder. "Just answer me, you son of a bitch. Use the part of your brain that is not already soaked in alcohol. She was here! She was supposed to be home by now."

"Are you her dad?" he grins goofily. House lets go of his shoulder and almost punches him in the face. Instead, he clenches his left fist and his jaw, letting out an angry breath. "She's not here, dude. Haven't seen her in hours."

House is aggravated by the guy's nonchalance and indifference. He grabs him by the front of his T-shirt and pulls him close. "Think again!" he barks at him. "What did you do to her?"

"I didn't do anything, man." He seems less chill and more scared now, putting his hands up in front of him innocently. "We made out, that's all."

House stares him down and tightens his grip.

"I swear, man. She got pissed cuz I made out with one of her friends." He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't seen her, since. I assumed she'd gone home."

House pulls out a pen and grabs the guy's arm.

"Woa, you gonna stab me, man?" His eyes grow wide, and he tries to pull out of Houses' clutch.

House closes his hand more tightly around his wrist, and starts to write on his lower arm. "This is my number. If she shows up here again and you don't call me, or if I find out that any of what you just told me was B.S., I _will_ push this through your eye socket." He holds up the pen. "Are we clear?"

The guy nods, all coolness eradicated.

House turns away from him and walks around for a while, hoping to run into one of Rachel's girlfriends. He soon realizes the futility of it, though: Girls look so different in tight clothes and heavy makeup he would not recognize any of them.

He returns to his car and drives around the neighborhood, hoping to catch a sight of Rachel's Sedan. He is without any luck, though, and calls Cuddy.

She picks up after the first ring. "Anything?" she asks with apprehension.

"No. The little shit says he hasn't seen her for a while. That she was upset. Swears he didn't touch her."

Cuddy sighs exasperatedly into the receiver. "I knew he didn't have a good influence on her." He hears the desperation in her voice. "Shit! What are we gonna do?"

"Call the local police, report her missing."

Cuddy inhales sharply.

"They might have picked up her license plate somewhere. If she was in a radar control or involved in an accident tonight, they would have it registered." He is concerned as well and wants to cover all the options. "I'm on my way over to you, taking the route she'd take. I'll keep an eye out."

"Okay." She hangs up.

He arrives at the house without any sight of Rachel. Cuddy opens the front door the moment he pulls into the driveway, probably hoping it might be Rachel. She holds the door open for him, grief and sorrow written all over her face. "Nothing?"

He shakes his head as he walks past her and takes off his jacket. "I'm assuming LPD was no help, either."

She shakes her head. "They said they'd notify me as soon as they have any news."

"Have you checked the hospitals within a twenty mile radius?"

Cuddy nods. "I called them all. No unidentified female teenager with dark hair was admitted tonight."

"Did you check John's phone? Maybe she texted him."

"I didn't want to upset him, he's asleep."

"You don't have to wake him up to check his phone."

"You have his pass code?"

"You don't?" He looks at her incredulously.

She seems somewhat shocked. "I want my children to be able to trust me."

House shakes his head. "Trust is good, control is better. They should be able to trust you to be in control of the situation, which is much more helpful." He walks towards the hallway. "I'll go check." The idea gets his hopes up, but they are swiftly crushed: He finds nothing on John's phone.

When he returns to the living room, Cuddy is still standing where he left her, her head buried in her hands. It is after three am, and she looks exhausted. She drops her hands when she hears him return, but quickly reads from his face that he came up empty handed. She shakes her head in frustration. "I shouldn't have let her drive," she blames herself. "We were fighting. As usual. I told her I didn't want her dating that guy, that he was a player."

"Bad taste in men…" House muses. "You think that's hereditary? Oh no, wait, that's not possible…" She glares at him and he stops badgering her.

"I thought maybe if I cut her some slack, be a cool mom for a change…" Her head is hanging low and she bites her lip.

"Stop wallowing in self-pity. It's not helping anyone."

She glares at him angrily. "I don't see how your genius ideas have brought us any further."

He bows his head in defeat.

"I'm sorry," she says, backing off. "I'm just… What else can we do?"

He swallows hard and shakes his head. He hates being this helpless. "We wait."

Cuddy bites down on her lower lip and turns away from him, hugging herself around the waist. He can tell from her posture that she is crying.

"It's not your fault," he tries to appease her. "You know that."

She shakes her head. "She started calling me 'Lisa'," Cuddy utters, sounding hurt and defeated. "As if I wasn't even her mother anymore." He sees her hand reach up to wipe at her tears.

House slowly limps over to her and stops mere inches behind her. Although he refrains from touching her, she senses his presence and turns her head, locating him out of the corner of her eye. To his surprise, she accepts his offer of comfort and closes the distance between them, shuffling backwards until her back collides with his chest. He drapes his left arm around her waist, his hand coming to rest lightly on her right hip.

"What if someone hurt her?" she whispers, sharing her worries with him. He feels her ribcage rise and fall with her breath.

"Then you lick her wounds while I retaliate," he deadpans. "Don't worry, I'll make it look like an accident."

"What if she lost control over the car, and she is lying injured in a ditch somewhere?"

"Someone will find her and help her."

She takes in a deep breath and holds it for a moment. Almost inaudibly, she utters her greatest fear: "What if she's dead?"

He has no more words. There is nothing he could do. Death has always been his enemy; that what he feels most helpless against.

She turns her head sideways so he can see part of her profile. "House, I couldn't take it." Her voice sounds desperate and cracked, and he feels her body trembling. "It would break me."

He leans his cane against the wall so he can wrap both arms around her and pull her more tightly against him. "I wouldn't let it," he murmurs. He drops his head low, his lips almost touching her forehead. "Or we'd fix you. Me and John. We know where all the pieces go."

She draws in a shaky breath and clings to his arms. Her trembling increases as she fights hard not to burst into tears.

"But I'm sure she's fine," he tries to calm her, his thumb caressing her upper arm. "Ninety-five percent of the teenagers reported missing show up again within forty-eight hours." He has no idea about the exact statistics, but he knows that the number is high and ninety-five sounds reassuring. "Come on," he says, stepping away from her and rubbing her back. "I'll make us some tea."

They sit on the couch and sip their tea while they wait for Rachel to come home. At some point, Cuddy drifts off to sleep, her head resting on the back of the couch. House is not surprised, given that she has been up all night; he has at least had four hours of sleep before she called, and he, too, feels exhausted. He shifts her into a lying position and covers her with a blanket.

About an hour later, he hears a car outside, which is unusual in this neighborhood at five AM on Sunday morning. He gets up swiftly and limps to the front door. A heavy weight lifts from his chest when he recognizes that it is Rachel. She parks her car next to his and he walks up to her, pulling her door open. "Are you okay?" he blurts out, looking her up and down. She is upset and in tears, her makeup smeared all over, but seems otherwise unscathed. "What's that smell?"

"I'm okay," she stutters, her lower lip quivering. "I threw up in the back seat."

"But you're not hurt?" he presses out. "And you didn't hurt anyone?"

She shakes her head and starts to cry. "I was just stupid."

"Let's talk inside," he says, leading her out of the car and guiding her to the front door, his hand on her back. "I'll take care of the puke later." He takes her keys from her and locks the car. "Your mom's asleep on the couch. I suggest we sneak past the dragon and go straight to your room."

"How upset is she?"

House glances at her briefly, raising his eyebrows. "We were worried."

They enter the house quietly and tiptoe into Rachel's room.

"So, where the hell were you?" He is not angry with her, just relieved that she is safe.

She sits down on her bed. "I had a fight with Jason. He made out with Jesse, and when I confronted him he acted like it was no big deal. And my friends didn't seem to bother, either. I was upset. I had some beer." House hands her the tissue box from her desk and sits down next to her. "Nobody cared!" she cries, her tears rolling down her face. "So I left. I went to the car and sat inside. I was angry and didn't want any of them to find me, so I drove a couple of blocks down. I know I shouldn't have, but I just needed to get away. Then I parked the car and threw up. I was so embarrassed. I didn't really know what to do. I thought I'd just wait until I sobered up."

House obviously had not searched the neighborhood carefully enough. "Your mom has been trying to reach you all night."

"I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't want to admit that she was right about Jason, and that I'd been drinking. I fell asleep. My phone was dead when I woke up again." She buries her face in her hands and starts to sob. "It was all so stupid."

House puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her against him. "It was. But at least you're okay." This makes her cry even harder. "Come on, it's not that big a deal. Nothing serious happened."

"Mom's gonna kill me," she sobs.

"I'll talk her out of it," he jokes and squeezes her shoulder several times. "Brush your teeth. Try to get some sleep."

"Okay," she sniffles and calms down a little.

"Rache?" he pulls back so he can see her face. "Didn't we have a deal once that you'd call me when you were in trouble?"

She averts her eyes, more tears falling down her cheeks.

"I have my cell on vibrate at night," he continues. "Allowing incoming calls from you, John, and your mother."

She nods. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He gets up and pats her on the head. "Teenage drama. I feel like I've ended up in an after-school special. I was always very into those." He winks at her and heads towards the door. On an afterthought, he turns around again and adds: "Stop calling her 'Lisa'. It doesn't make you sound more mature. On the contrary, actually."

Rachel presses her lips together and lowers her eyes. She does not say anything, but he thinks he got his message across, and leaves her alone.

Back in the living room, he sits down on the couch next to Cuddy and rubs her arm. "Hm," she hums as she wakes up, blinking her eyes at him. She seems disoriented for a split second before the events of the night come crashing back over her.

"She's here," he tells her.

"What?" Cuddy sits up abruptly.

"She got here ten minutes ago. I sent her to bed. She's fine."

Cuddy turns straight from relieved to angry. "Where the hell has she been?" She tosses back the blanket.

"She had a little bit to drink, parked her car down the street, fell asleep… Everything's okay."

"Everything's _okay_?" she asks sarcastically, swiftly getting up from the couch. "Why the hell didn't she call me?"

House tries to remain calm. "Maybe because she was afraid you'd react like this?" he suggests. There was really no point in her making a scene now.

"I need to speak with her," she says decidedly, turns on her heels and storms towards the hallway. House hurries after her and catches her right hand with his left, swirling her around to make her face him. "How is that going to improve the situation? If you start yelling at her now?"

"House, she needs to know that this is unacceptable! She can't just disappear like that, without leaving me a message or picking up my calls."

"A: I'm sure she knows that, and B: you can still tell her that tomorrow. When you've cooled off a little."

She glares at him angrily. "Cooled off? Don't you think she should know how worried I was?"

"She already does, and it's not her job to give you a worry-free life." House raises his voice as he tries to talk some sense into her. "She's a teenager! She's supposed to push her boundaries, get drunk, come home late. If you can't handle that, it's _your_ problem!"

Cuddy looks shocked at his statement. "And it's _my_ job to put her back _inside_ those boundaries; keep her in line. I'm not enslaving her! She has more freedom than I ever did. There are rules, and they are for her protection. I need her to stick with them!"

"You are asking too much of her!" he throws in her face, his voice close to shouting. "Stop trying to turn her into the perfect daughter. So what if she screwed up a little? She's already scared and feeling like shit. If you go in there now and dump all your anger and disappointment over her, what do you think she'll do next time, when maybe she is in real trouble? Don't you want her to turn to you for help?"

Cuddy stares at him, considering his words, and falters to give him a retort.

House takes in a few measured breaths and turns off fight mode, relaxing his shoulders. "She needs to know that you're on her side. Always. Even when she doesn't follow your blueprint to the T. Especially then!" All the while he has not let go of her hand in case he needed to stop her from storming into Rachel's room, and he rubs his thumb over her knuckles, trying to appease her.

She closes her eyes, all anger and tension leaving her body. "I was expecting a call from the morgue every second tonight, asking me to come down and identify her body." She can hardly speak, and when she lifts her eyes to him, they are about to spill over with tears. "I already saw her name on the headstone next to Michael's." Her voice is almost inaudible. She hangs her head, shaking it from side to side. She looks lost, defeated, and immeasurably tired.

"I know," he murmurs, pulling on her hand. "Come here."

Her eyes skim over his torso while her face starts to fall. She steps closer to him, and the first sob escapes her lips before her head hits his chest. She buries her face in her hands and completely unravels leaning against him. House puts his left arm around her as she cries uncontrollably, her sounds muffled by her hands and his shirt.

After a minute, he sees the door to the hallway open quietly. Rachel appears behind it. He is not sure how much of their conversation she overheard, but her expression carries sadness and guilt. She approaches them tentatively until House lifts his cane and gestures for her to return to bed. 'I got it,' he mouths to her, nodding at her reassuringly.

Rachel chews on her lower lip, the corners of her mouth turning downward, but she complies with him and leaves the room soundlessly.

Cuddy continues to cry as if her heart was breaking, her body shaking with each sob. She frees her arms that have been wedged in between them, and wraps them around his neck, clinging to him as if for dear life. House can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he has seen her like this. He attributes her outburst not solely to her fear for Rachel and the events of the night. All the grief that has been accumulating over the past months is pouring out of her: Her failed attempts at dating, the difficulties and fights she has had with Rachel, and the strained relationship they have had since they slept with each other.

She cries and cries with seemingly no end to her tears. He eventually drops his cane to the carpet because there is nothing around to lean it against, and cradles her head with one hand, stroking her back with the other. She feels tiny in his arms, and way too bony. On every quivering inhale, her ribs jut out and press into his stomach.

He wonders if maybe she needed him more than he thought. He was certain she would get past this. That she would find herself another Michael and be fine.

He rocks her from side to side. Dipping his chin low, he tries to come up with something comforting to whisper in her ear. "Cuddy…" he murmurs on an exhale. Nothing else comes to his mind.

Oddly enough, his attempts to soothe her seem to have an effect: Her breathing eventually begins to turn back to normal, and, after another minute, the sobbing stops.

She holds him close while she takes several measured breaths, then she pulls back slightly. She wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "God, I cried all over you," she sniffles, her fingertips jittering over his damp shirt like butterflies.

"That's cool. They match now. Rachel already covered the other shoulder." His hands travel to her hips and rest there lightly. He is unwilling to let her go just yet. "She knows she screwed up," House points out gently. "Go easy on her."

Cuddy nods and looks up at him, her bright-blue eyes big and watery. "Thank you," she whispers. "For keeping me sane tonight."

"Did I?" he asks, mocking her playfully.

"Hm." The corners of her mouth lift up briefly.

"Go to bed," he mumbles. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah." She wipes at her cheeks, and they let go of each other. "Stay here if you want." This is the first time she offered him this since her birthday last year.

"Thanks, but I'll head home. Gotta take care of something."

She raises her eyebrows.

"I'll take Rachel's car. Don't worry about it." On an impulse, he kisses the crown of her head before he picks up his cane and heads for the door. "Call the police and let them know they can stop looking."

"Right." She nods.

He grabs his jacket and glances at her one more time before he closes the door behind him.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34: Cuddy Is in the Hospital**

About two weeks after the night Rachel went missing, House's landline rings. He has just returned home from work. He throws his backpack in the corner, sinks down on the couch and, not recognizing the number, picks up the receiver.

"Yeah?"

"Hi, uh, Greg? This is Ethan."

House sits up, his spine stiffening.

"Lisa's in the hospital." He pauses, considering his words. "Well, I guess that's not so odd since she works here. Anyways, she fell down a flight of stairs. She's fine, but they are keeping her here for the night. She hit her head, and they wanna make sure it's nothing serious."

House's mouth feels dry. His heart drops several levels into his stomach. His hands turn sweaty.

"I always wondered how she does it with her high heels. I was in the middle of talking to her over the phone when it happened. Suddenly: 'boom'. Her phone's smashed."

"Get to it," House presses out through gritted teeth.

"Oh, sure, yeah. She told me to call you and ask you to go over to the house, tell the kids what's up without scaring the crap out of them, and bring them here so they can see for themselves that she's okay." He pauses. "Yup, I think those were her words."

House has a hard time forming a coherent thought. "Did they… did-did she get a CT?"

"Happening as we speak." He waits for House to say something else. When nothing comes, he asks: "So, you comin'?"

House swallows hard. "Yeah. I'm on my way."

"She says not to hurry and to relax."

House slams down the receiver.

He picks ups the kids and drives to Princeton General. All the while, he fails to rid himself of the fear that has settled over him. He feels tense and slightly nauseous, and he is not sure why. Rachel and John are more at ease than him, and he is under the impression it is rather the children calming him down than the other way around.

When they enter Cuddy's hospital room, she is sitting up in bed, talking to Ethan, who sits on a visitor's chair by the window. He senses a slight edge and wonders if they had been arguing on the phone the moment she fell.

Rachel and John rush to her, one on either side of the bed, and she opens her arms to them. "My angels," she smiles, hugging them close and kissing their heads.

House catches her eyes once and only for a second. He sees no injuries and only notices her white hospital gown. Feeling uneasy and out of place, he picks up her chart from the foot of her bed and wordlessly leaves the room.

He sits down on a hard plastic chair in the hallway, studying her scans and the blood work they did on her. Not finding anything alarming, he puts down the chart on the empty chair next to him, taps his cane between his legs, and waits. His heart still fells as if someone had laid a clamp around it and is squeezing it tight. 'She's fine,' he keeps telling himself, but when it comes to her health, his rational mind goes haywire.

The door to her room opens.

"Dad, mom wants to talk to you." John walks up to him, followed by Rachel and Ethan. "We're having dinner at the cafeteria. You want anything?"

House shakes his head.

"Mom's buyin'." John waves Cuddy's credit card in the air.

"I'll, uh, I'll join you guys in a bit." He rises from the chair, taking the chart with him.

"Okay, see you downstairs."

They pass by him, and he slowly makes his way to Cuddy's room. He pauses and takes a deep breath before he pushes down the handle.

"Hey," she greets him softly.

He can barely look at her and focuses on the footrest of the bed where he replaces her chart.

"Find anything?" she asks.

House shakes his head, keeping his distance. "You're fine," he says, his voice hoarse. "A little low on the iron."

"Thanks for bringing the kids."

He nods.

"Will you stay with them tonight?"

He nods again. He has no clue as to why he is overreacting so badly. The situation certainly reminds him of the last time he saw her hospitalized—when he was certain she was dying. 'But she didn't,' he tells himself. 'She's here.' He tries to rid himself of his emotions and get a grip on himself, hating nothing more than irrationality. It feels as if the anxiety he had repressed back then is forcing itself upon him now.

"Hey," she interrupts his ruminating. Her voice is warm and inviting, and she holds her hand out to him, beckoning him closer.

He hesitates briefly, but then he shuffles to her side opposite of where Ethan was sitting, and sinks down onto a chair while he takes her hand. His whole body is decompressing with the motion, and he drops his forehead to their joined hands—their arms are bent at the elbow, their lower arms angled perpendicularly to the mattress. He leans his cane against the side of the bed and entangles this arm in hers as well, his thumb burying in the crease of her elbow.

She rolls onto her side, scooting closer to him. Her knees come up higher and her spine curves, her body creating a semicircle around the spot on the mattress they are holding onto each other. Her free hand reaches up and touches his head, her fingers gently raking through his hair. "I'm okay," she whispers, trying to soothe him.

House closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths.

At that moment, the door flies open and Ethan waltzes in, carrying a plastic container with salad. "I thought maybe you'd—" he stops in his tracks when he sees them.

They are all paralyzed for a moment. Cuddy lowers the hand that has been caressing House's head, but otherwise does not pull away. She looks at Ethan, who stares at them with his mouth agape. "You love him," he concludes eventually.

Cuddy pulls in her lower lip. Her eyebrows furrow. "He's my best friend," she states, avoiding a straight response.

"Your best friend _who you are in love with_," Ethan clarifies, stressing each word in the second part of his sentence.

Cuddy does not even try to deny it. She just looks at Ethan with a troubled expression, but without shame or guilt.

"It's why you never talk about him," Ethan continues, shaking his head in astonishment. "It would just be too dang obvious." He sets the salad down on a nearby table and heads around the bed to grab his jacket from the back of the chair he sat on earlier.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy mumbles.

Ethan halts and glares at Cuddy. He opens his mouth, about to express his anger, but seems to think the better of it, shakes his head and storms out of the room.

"That guy has some serious anger management problems," House comments. "Not that I'm the one to throw stones."

Cuddy sighs as she drops her head back onto the pillow, closing her eyes.

"I'm sorry," House states weakly. He truly had not meant to be the reason for their break-up.

She shakes her head, hardly bothered by the chain of events, and looks at him through heavy eyelids. "What are we doing, House?" Her voice sounds tired and resigned. "This is screwing us up."

He nods, but breaks the eye contact with her, unable to give her a solution.

"It's screwing up the kids."

"I know," he mutters. He wishes he could stop from holding back and just give into her. A large part of him wants to, but a bigger part tells him that it would cost him his sanity. He went nuts the last time they were dating: He was acting in ways that were completely out of character for him. The moment she had stepped outside his apartment that first day, he had felt the pressure of needing to make their relationship work. He had gone out of his way trying to keep her with him, and had almost constantly felt stressed to do better. Because he knew there was no real alternative: It was either her or no one and nothing at all.

And his anxiety would be worse now, given the circumstances with the kids. He has too many unresolved issues he has no idea how to fix. He feels no less screwed up than the last time they were dating. Also, his leg is worse than it was back then. He cannot even imagine what he would do if they failed at this a second time. They would definitely end up more shattered than they are now.

He stares at a spot on the mattress, struggling with himself. "I can't," he presses out, feeling like shit.

She shifts slightly, and her hand comes to rest on his forearm. "It's okay," she whispers, rubbing gently over the fabric of his shirt. "It's okay," she repeats. Her hand stills, and she closes her eyes. He feels the fingers of the hand he is holding relax. "You're here."

He wonders what she means exactly as he watches her drift off to sleep.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

After the incident at the hospital, Cuddy stops dating. She buries her feelings and the pain from his rejection, and accepts the situation as it is. It seems that, at least for the time being, she has decided to shift her focus on the wellbeing of the kids and a functioning family life.

The relationship between her and Rachel had already improved after the dreadful night Rachel had not come home, but it increases more drastically after Cuddy and Ethan's break-up.

Due to Cuddy's date-free nights, House no longer needs to tiptoe around when to visit, and simply stops by the house when he feels like it or when the kids ask him to.

The tension between him and Cuddy having ebbed away almost completely, they live a fairly normal family life with the exception that they are not romantically involved and he spends several nights a week at his place. They are best friends again, and Cuddy makes no advances at him whatsoever. When she touches him, it happens in the form of a platonic rub of his shoulder or a brief squeeze of his arm. She appreciates him coming over and spending time with the kids, and is genuinely happy to see him. Occasionally, he sees the longing in her eyes—especially at night when they are the only ones left on the couch and she is tired—but she blinks it away each time, gives him a small, slightly melancholy smile, and heads to bed.

Rachel and John both decide not to go to camp for the summer. Rachel takes on a job at the movie theatre in Trenton, and John stays at home. He is not alone much because Rachel's shifts start either at noon or at six, and House tries to leave work early as often as possible. He starts to teach John how to play chess, which turns out to be a lot of fun for both of them. They have the chessboard set up in the living room, and House allows John to take all the time he needs to make a move. When he does, John takes a picture of the board and sends it to House, who checks his phone frequently at work, and texts John the coordinates of his next move. They keep this up for hours, and at night they skim through the pictures and House tells John at which point he went wrong and what he could have done differently. House and John also frequently drive to Trenton to give Rachel a visit at work, and she sneaks them free popcorn.

For a while, House thinks that Cuddy only took a break from dating and expects her to take it up again, but even six months after the end of her relationship with Ethan, House receives no texts from her telling him not to come over.

For the first time in his life, he experiences the safety and support of a functioning family. House feels accepted and appreciated for whom he is. The three of them focus on what he has to offer and what he adds to their lives instead of pointing out everything he is lacking. They tolerate his quirks, understand when he is in pain, and leave him in peace when he is grumpy.

They spend the holidays together again, and he cannot remember to ever have enjoyed them this much. He ravels in the warm lights and the coziness, the smell of cookies and eggnog, and the glee in their eyes when he surprises them with a pine tree. They are huddling under blankets in front of the fireplace on Christmas morning, John playing elf and distributing the presents. House loves the wonder on their faces when they open his. Being the good listener he is, he pays attention throughout the year, making mental notes when they mention what they like. They are amazed by his thoughtfulness.

They all spend New Years Eve at different places, but House does not mind, knowing they will come back together the following day. Nevertheless, he sits on Foreman's couch with slight apprehension. His happiness almost scares him, and—as usual—he tries to foresee when and how it will come to an end.

_THE END._

_No, just kidding ;-), still far from done. I do have to stop adding extra chapters, though, or I won't ever finish this. This chapter was also not planned. The scene with House at Cuddy's hospital bed kept coming to my mind relentlessly, though. At first I thought I couldn't weave it into the story, but now I did. I hope you liked it._

_Thanks so much for all the very sweet comments, they make me super happy._

_Stay healthy and safe!_


	35. Chapter 35

_It was a joke, Cali, story's not over yet. What I did was actually kind of a prelude to this chapter. You'll know when you read it._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 35: House's Childhood **

He is not sure what brings it on—whether it is self-fulfilling prophecy, or the fact that he feels safe enough with them to drop all his guards and emotionally unwind—but come January, House starts having nightmares. Buried memories from his childhood arise in his dreams, and he wakes up several times at night, soaking in anxious sweat. He is either drowning or falling or freezing, surrounded by darkness and abandoned by the rest of the world. His restless nights leave him tired and wiped out during the day, drawing at his energy. He stops staying over at the house because on some nights he wakes up yelling.

Cuddy, of course, notices his change in behavior, but he brushes her off every time she calls him on it. He feels uncomfortable talking about his past, and hopes for his nightmares to be temporary. The first week he pretends to be busy with a case and hardly sees her or the kids. The second week he simulates a minor gastro-intestinal infection.

When he comes over on the Saturday two weeks after the nightmares started, he dozes off on the couch in the afternoon, his sleep deprivation taking its toll on him. He dreams of faceless creatures slithering towards him in the darkness, and when he wakes up, one of these shadows is right in front of him, descending upon him. He flinches away before his eyes adapt to the light, and he catches sight of Cuddy holding a navy blue blanket in her hands, in the process of covering him up with it.

She seems disconcerted by his intense reaction. "It's just me," she whispers, and spreads the soft fabric over his legs. "House, please tell me what's going on," she asks, concern ringing in her voice. "Why are you hardly here anymore?"

"Something has to be wrong?" he deflects. "Couldn't be that I have a hot chick half your age waiting for me at home and I'm just being sensitive of your feelings?"

Not the least bit fazed by his comment, she carefully sits down next to him, her expression serious. "Please talk to me."

Part of him wants to, but a bigger part of him is scared of the questions that are bound to follow. He has not even shared many details from his childhood with Wilson, because he wants neither pity nor commiseration. He rubs his leg absentmindedly, not knowing what to say.

"Is it your leg?" she asks gently. "Is it getting worse?"

He shakes his head, remaining silent.

"Obviously I can't force you to tell me, but can you at least give me a hint?" she pleads with him. "I'm worried."

He gives up warding her off. "It's not a big deal. I just haven't been sleeping well."

"In what way?"

"Bad dreams."

"Okay," she nods, looking slightly relieved. She has probably been expecting worse. "But you don't want to share what they're about?!"

House's dreams have increased in intensity over the last week, and his lack of sleep has been affecting his work. What worries him most is the impact they have on his mojo. As much as he wants to keep the past buried, he is scared of slipping into a depression, so he reached out to his former therapist. "I will. I rang Dr. Nolan yesterday. Turns out he has an unexpected opening in his schedule next week."

"That's good. I'm glad." She searches his face with worry. She must think matters are more serious than he admits, given that he already called his therapist, but she refrains from pressuring him. "Are they worse here? Your nightmares?"

"No. I don't know." His first one hit him at his apartment on Sunday night two weeks ago, and he has stayed at his place since. "I just get loud sometimes."

"House, you shouldn't be alone now. The kids' rooms are far enough down the hall, and I don't mind. I can close my door, if you'd be more comfortable with that. It's just a remnant from when the kids were little."

He ponders her offer, scratching his forehead. He gives her a brief nod.

"Okay." She brushes her hair out of her face. "And I'm here, too, if you need me."

"Thank you."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

House starts seeing Dr. Nolan once a week, and they dig deep into his childhood. From then on, things only seem to be getting worse instead of better. House's world becomes greyer and greyer, and he feels completely powerless to fight it.

He is spending more and more nights at the house—not because his dreams are any less cruel there, but because of the comfort it gives him to wake up and be aware of the three living and breathing warm bodies lying not too far from him. It also calms him to know that if he were to knock on Cuddy's door and ask if he could sleep beside her, she would let him. Sometimes, when he wakes up from a nightmare, he finds her sitting at his bedside holding his hand or running her hands through his hair the way he has seen her do with John a thousand times. He tries to recall the last time she was this gentle with him. Maybe right after he had returned from Mayfield, or when he was in the hospital after Amber's death.

He cannot help but feel like a liability. He spends long periods of time in his room, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally, he picks up his guitar and plays songs he remembers from his childhood. Most of the rare positive moments from his past are connected to music; it was his way to escape. Sometimes, John knocks on his door, enters wordlessly carrying his guitar, and joins him.

As much as House wants to be happy and appreciate what he has, an invisible wall has wedged itself between him and the world, dulling every emotion, color, and sense. He lost his appetite, his humor, and his grip on everything that once gave him stability. Everything is shifting. He feels vulnerable and raw, and wants to hide away all the time. He takes a week off from work, but soon realizes it makes him feel even more useless and like a failure.

This has been going on for three months when he walks into the living room one night to find Cuddy still on the couch, reading through a report. She looks up when she hears him approaching. "Hey, what are you still doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he says, stopping in front of the coffee table.

"You want me to make you some tea? Or milk 'n' honey?" she offers, taking off her reading glasses and setting down her work.

He shakes his head. She is doing enough for him already. "I'm a burden. And I feel like crap because of that."

"What?" She furrows her eyebrows at him, looking startled. "No! What are you talking about?"

"I _am_ really trying to get past this," he says, feeling the need to apologize.

"I know that! House, don't be ridiculous. If there is _anything_ I can do to help…" She looks at him with empathy.

He lowers himself onto the couch a couple of feet away from her, exhaling deeply. "Just don't let it affect the kids. Kick me out before it does."

"It's not affecting them," she says firmly. "They know this has nothing to do with them."

He stomps his cane on the carpet, holding it between his legs. He feels so utterly helpless.

She settles a pillow in her lap and holds out her arm. "Here," she pats the pillow with her other hand. "Lie down."

He hesitates for a second before he leans his cane against the coffee table and tilts his body sideways on the couch, his head coming to rest on the pillow.

She pulls a blanket from the backrest and drapes it over him. "I'm actually quite proud of you," she says gently, and starts stroking his upper arm. "I understand this is difficult and you're struggling, but you decided to get help and go the long way instead of opting for the quick fix."

"You didn't have to pour your entire alcohol collection down the drain."

She pauses briefly. "You noticed that, huh?"

"No pain releasing substances besides Advil and cough syrup in the house anymore, either." He actually appreciates her concern, and enjoys mocking her a little. "You do realize I work at a hospital?!"

"Well, I know how hard it can be to resist the temptation of short term relief." Her voice is dry and low.

"Heroin would definitely do the trick." He scratches his nose. "Or just a syringe and an air bubble. Which would actually turn it into a long term fix, though."

The movement of her hand stops abruptly and she takes in a shaky breath before he realizes what he just said and how it might have come across. "House!" she gasps.

He turns onto his back so he can see her face. It is filled with shock and fear, bordering on panic. "I didn't mean that," he says swiftly.

"Are you suicidal?" she breathes, completely unconvinced by his words.

"No. You don't have to worry about coming home and finding me in a bloody bathtub," he tries to calm her.

His attempt fails. She seems to be barely breathing. "But that I'll receive a phone call from Foreman, informing me that you jumped off a bridge somewhere?"

"No." He did not think she would react this strongly. He had not been thinking at all, actually. "Cuddy, shit just flew from my mouth. I was kidding."

"That's not funny right now." She stares at him intently, still concerned he meant even part of what he said.

"I know. It's not even an option at the moment."

She raises her eyebrows. "Well, would you even tell if it were to _become_ an option?" There are tears forming in her eyes.

He takes in a deep breath and tries to give her an honest answer. "I wouldn't be here at all anymore," he whispers. "I wouldn't do this. Not when I'm this close to you and the kids."

She swallows hard as the tears start rolling down her cheeks.

He tends to forget how much he means to her. He reaches up and cups her beautiful face in his hand, his thumb catching a tear. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. He had not meant to upset her like this.

She covers his hand with hers and presses it more tightly against her face, holding onto his touch. "No more jokes about this, okay?" she mutters through her tears and briefly turns her head to plant a kiss on his palm. She searches his face carefully, blinking several times.

He nods earnestly and turns back onto his side when she lets go of his hand.

They remain quiet for a while, each of them lost to their own thoughts. Eventually, she picks her report back up and continues with her work while she gently runs her free hand through his hair.

He closes his eyes and dwells in her caress. At this point, he is relieved she is his best friend and not his girlfriend. It would increase the pressure on him to get better, and he would feel even worse about letting her down. Moreover, he would constantly question her motives and suspect she was holding onto him purely out of guilt. As of now, he is certain that she is acting out of friendship. She is free to send him home anytime, in case he became too much of a downer. This is his greatest fear: That he will keep deteriorating to the point where they cannot stand to be around him anymore.

He opens his eyes and swallows hard. "What if I don't get better?" he mutters.

"You will, honey," she responds promptly, sounding absolutely certain.

"You're just saying that because you want it to be true."

"I'm saying it because I believe it to be true. I'm sure Dr. Nolan hasn't reached the end of his rope, yet. And once he does, we'll think of something. Try something different."

He wishes he could share her faith.

"Nobody is abandoning you, House," she reassures him. He wonders how she keeps guessing his fears. "I'm here. We're all on your side."

Her words and the warmth in her voice bring a lump to his throat. "Thank you," he says hoarsely. He wedges one hand under her leg near the hollow of her knee; his other hand comes around on top so he can hold on, her thigh serving as his anchor. He closes his eyes again and tries to let go, hoping that she will catch him if he falls.


	36. Chapter 36

_To my nice Guest (hehe, this will be your name from now on): Thanks for catching that, it's exactly what I was trying to point out. It often happens that people who have been through an ordeal manage to keep going only by repressing their emotions__—__because the events are too extreme to process. Once they reach a safe place, all that stuff resurfaces. So what I was getting at in the last chapter (and in this one) is that House finally has so much outside stability and support he can afford to fall apart a little._

_To Anon: Nope, this is my first (and only) account, and I just started writing last year. Maybe the chapter reminded you of another story? I suppose mine is not the only one in which Cuddy fears that House might take his life._

_Okay guys, this is it: The most important chapter of the story. It's pretty rough and deals with a lot of pain, so please read it in a quiet moment, preferably when you have a room to yourself._

_Warning: If you don't deal well with descriptions of abuse (non-sexual), skip the first three very long paragraphs of House monologue. After that, you're pretty safe and should still be able to follow the rest of the chapter. _

**Chapter 36: House Tells Cuddy**

He takes a running start and jumps. "I want to tell you something."

It has been eight months since he started seeing Dr. Nolan, and in the last two months or so, his nightmares and his depression eased up a little. Most of his days are still grey, but he is not stuck in an endlessly dark tunnel anymore. It feels more like being melancholy on a rainy day.

Except that it is summer. All his days are at least cloudy.

It is a warm Sunday afternoon. John is spending time at a friend's house to swim and play in their pool, and Rachel has left for work. Cuddy has made some iced tea, and she and House are both indulging in bumming lazily on the couch. Cuddy is in the middle of binge-watching some Netflix series when he makes his announcement. She immediately turns off the TV, obviously sensing the importance in what he has to say.

"Actually, I don't _want to_ tell you," he elaborates. "It's more of a therapy requirement."

She turns sideways, propping her head up on her elbow on the back of the couch and pulling up her knees sideways in front of her. He has her full attention.

He swallows hard. He is sitting several feet away from her, his back resting firmly against the cushions, his legs out in front of him on the footrest. He looks down at his lap, giving her his profile. He cannot face her for what he is about to say. "Nolan urged me to share this with someone in my life. You know, someone from my actual life. Beside him. To make it real. I tried engaging Lou after work on Friday, but he was kinda busy moppin' the OR." He glances at her briefly.

Her expression remains solemn as she waits patiently for him to continue.

House takes a couple of breaths while he rubs his leg. "I don't need anything from you," he clarifies. "I don't want you to treat me any differently." This is important to him.

"Okay," she nods, her face sincere.

When he talks, his voice is dry and low, avoid of emotion. "I was abused. As a child. Not sexually, and not so much physical violence, but it was physical." He glances at her again to catch her reaction. She does not seem the least bit surprised. He realizes that she must have been expecting something along the lines all the while.

When she does not say anything, he continues talking with his eyes cast down. "My dad was in the Corps, and he liked discipline. There were rules for everything. Rules on how to eat, how to talk, how to sit. Part of them made sense, but most of them were insane. Everything needed to be exactly how he wanted it. For dinner, my mother had to use a ruler to make sure the plates were the exact distance form the edge of the table and from each other. We always ate in the same seats, of course. If I wanted to say something, I needed to ask for permission. I had to address him with 'Sir' at all times. There were so many rules—most of them permanent, some he made up as he went. They were impossible to follow for a child. And when I screwed up, he punished me. When I was little, he'd sometimes use a ruler on my butt. But he was a catholic, and didn't want his hands dirty, so he found other ways to discipline me. He'd lock me up in the cellar for hours, without light or anything to eat or drink, made me spend the night in the yard outside with no shelter, force me under cold showers… When I said something inappropriate or was disrespectful in his eyes, he'd wash my mouth with soap or make me drink a glass of vinegar."

He shakes his head at the absurdity of it all. "I became good at reading him and his moods, knew when to get out of his way and keep quiet, but that didn't always help. At times I thought he only made up rules so that he could punish me in some way. I was afraid all the time, and tried to sidestep the punishments whenever I could. I started hiding something to eat and drink, a book and a flashlight under one of the floorboards in the cellar. That went great for a while, until one time I fell asleep while reading and didn't hear him come down the stairs. Afterward, he'd search the place every time before locking me down there again. When something like this happened, when I tried to duck his punishment, he'd loose control and beat me. Rarely in the face, so it wouldn't be noted at school. After my third ear infection one particularly cold winter, with too many nights outside, I used pliers to cut a small hole in the fence behind a bush, which I could squeeze through at night and hide at a friend's house. I just had to make sure to be back in time. One morning, he waited for me. Either he woke up early or he had suspected something and went to check on me during the night. He must have found the hole, because he stood right on the other side of the bush, and grabbed me before I could react. We had a barrel in our yard, to catch rainwater for the plants. He'd force me in it sometimes when I was younger. He dragged me over there and pushed my head down repeatedly, for minutes. The water must have been ice cold, but I didn't feel it. I was sure that this time he was gonna kill me."

His voice feels hoarse from all the talking. He glances over at her and sees that she is silently crying. She swiftly wipes at her tears when his eyes meet hers. 'This is enough,' he thinks, and decides to stop talking. He is asking too much of her; he should not make her carry his burden.

She swallows against the lump in her throat. "What was your mom's role? In all this?"

He scratches his forehead. "I think she was scared of him. She was excellent at downplaying it all. She assured me that, deep down, my dad loved me, and that he just wanted me to be a good boy. That this was his way of expressing that he cared." House scoffs mildly, hanging his head. "She did take care of me. After the beatings, or when I got sick after another night outside. And she tried to spare me from some of it. When I wet the bed at night, I occasionally managed to only wake _her_ up. She'd quietly change the sheet and superficially clean the one I had ruined. She'd hide it to take care of it the next day when my dad was at work, so that he wouldn't find it hanging on the clothesline in the morning. She couldn't change my PJs, because he'd notice, so she'd dry them with her blow drier after washing them in the sink. One time, she made an attempt to stand up to him. I think I was maybe five, and I'd wet the bed, and he dragged me to the bathroom where he took off my clothes. He peed in the cup I used to rinse my mouth after brushing my teeth, and forced me to drink it. I was crying and puking my guts out when my mom appeared at the doorstep and begged him to stop. He just shoved her out of the room and locked the door. I heard her whimpering in the hallway, so I sucked it up and downed the rest of it." His mouth is dry, and he is running out of energy to say any more.

When he looks at her again, tears are streaming down her face. This time, she makes no attempt to hide them or brush them away. She draws in a shaky breath. "When did it stop?"

"When I was fifteen. In my sophomore year, I had a teacher in PE who I think suspected what was going on. All boys showered together. There was no way to hide my bruises. He never mentioned anything, and back then it wasn't very common to report domestic violence—raising a kid was purely the parents' business—and he must have know that it would have done me more harm than good. But somehow he convinced my dad that I was needed on the football team. I sucked at football! I was a small and skinny kid with no body strength, but he made me train with them. Had me take part in their diet, protein shakes and whatnot, so I'd build some muscle. I gained weight that year and grew at least two feet. When he sent the team on a run to train their condition, he took me aside and taught me how to fight. So I could defend myself, he said. He showed me how to hit, where to hit, how to keep up my guard… He also encouraged me to go away for college and apply for scholarships. I was a good student, and he advocated for me to skip a grade. Finish all my requirements for the Junior and Senior years in one year, so I could leave early. He talked to my other teachers, who approved if I was willing to take courses over the summer. Which I was happy to do. Gave me a reason to be away from home. One day during that summer, my dad came at me. I don't even remember what it was about. I ducked away and punched him so hard he went down. I sat on his chest and blocked his windpipe. Told him that if he ever touched me again, I'd kill him."

They both sit in silence. He has run out of things to say. He supposes she needs some time to process what he told her. Unsure about what to do or say next, he stares at his feet and starts to rub his leg.

Eventually, Cuddy shifts on the couch, and out of the corner of his eye he sees her scooting closer to him. When she is seated right next to him, she takes his hand, stilling his movement. "House, I know you said you don't need me to say anything, and I am sure you already know this, but please listen to me."

He continues staring at his lap. He feels so small and ashamed that he cannot meet her gaze.

"Greg, look at me," she demands gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

His head snaps up in surprise, turning to face her. She never calls him that.

Her eyes are watery, but at least she stopped crying. He knows that when she speaks, she is not only talking to him, but also to the child he used to be. "What happened to you is beyond everything any child should ever experience. What your parents did to you was unacceptable. It was unjust and unfair, and an absolute abomination. They were so in the wrong! You didn't deserve to be punished like that. No child should _ever_ be punished like that. No matter what they did." She squeezes his hand more tightly and raises her eyebrows at him, emphasizing her words. "You were a good boy. You _are_ a good man." New tears start to run down her cheeks, and he averts his eyes.

It is true: His mind is consciously aware of everything she just said. But it does feel good to hear it from someone he loves.

They sit in silence again, and he focuses on her breath and her warm fingers.

Suddenly, she pulls her hand away and clasps it in front of her mouth. "Oh my God," she exclaims, looking as if she just made a horrible discovery.

"What?" he asks.

"That's what I did, isn't it?"

He had not meant to indirectly convey a message to her, and has no idea what she is talking about. He raises his eyebrows at her questioningly.

"When we were dating." She seems to be in shock and has a hard time formulating her thoughts. "I made up all these crazy rules that you were to play by, and in the end I dumped you anyway."

He never drew a parallel between his childhood and their break-up, and finds the comparison a bit far fetched. "You didn't abandon me and lock me up in a dark cellar."

Her breath has turned shallow. "I did. In a way. I locked you out of my house, out of my life. I withdrew our proximity—both physical and emotional; took Rachel away from you." She shakes her head, looking deeply distressed. "I actually _told you_ that you weren't good enough."

He never saw it this way. To him, it had been only a matter of time until she would be fed up with him. It had been insane of her to even want to try being in a relationship with him in the first place. He never blamed her for ending it. "I wasn't," he mumbles, bowing his head and slumping his shoulders.

"According to whose standards?" she asks in a raised voice, furrowing her eyebrows. She sounds angry. "Mine? Who says you need to be willing to take out the trash, attend events you have absolutely no intention to go to, play nice with my mother… _Or_ know perfectly how to act in a crisis, for that matter?" She exhales heavily, a look of disappointment crossing her face. "You never had any such rules for me, and I sure as hell wasn't the perfect girlfriend."

He swallows hard. "You were," he whispers. "To me." This is true. He would have done anything for her, even if that had involved giving up his practice. A flush of sadness rushes through him, remembering the abandonment he felt when she left. "You meant the world to me, Cuddy." He has a lump in his throat and can barely manage to get his next words out. "I tried _so hard_ to be the person you needed me to be."

His words seem to hit her. He is not sure he ever saw her this upset. "I know," she murmurs, her face filled with so much grief she cannot contain it. More tears spill from her eyes; her breath is shaking. "I know that." He sees his pain reflected back upon him.

All the while he was talking about his childhood he barely felt anything. It was all buried so far for so long he has no access to his emotions anymore. He did not realize he still carried the pain from their break-up as well, which now rises up in him, and an ugly sound escapes his throat. He feels a storm forming in his chest, huge grey waves threatening to bury him underneath, and his first instinct is to run. He needs to get away from her and from his emotions. He needs to reach the shore, any shore, before they crash him, but he knows he cannot run anymore, and she would follow him anyways.

So he turns away from her to lie on his side, and grabs a pillow to stuff it into his mouth, muffling the sounds of his screams and sobs as he cries like he never did before in his life. The loss of her had been so utterly devastating. Not only because he had to learn how to live without her again, but also because she took away his hope that anyone would ever put up with him. That he would ever not be alone. She had been the one. She had known him like no other, had loved him like no other, and not even she could stand to be with him for more than a few months.

Wave after wave of pain washes over him, and he thinks that any moment it will split him in half. His heart hurts so much.

He feels her hand on his arm, and eventually she lies down behind him, molding her body to his. Her nose rubs his shoulder blade, and her arm encircles his waist. She presses her hand flat against his chest, right over his aching heart.

In his entire teens, and maybe even into his twenties, he longed to be held like this. He would lie awake in his bed and wish for someone to protect him and keep him safe. She was the only person in his life who ever did. Back when they were dating and he was upset but unable or unwilling to share, he would turn away from her in bed. The first few times this happened, she would leave him alone. Later, she would accept his silence but not his distance, and curl up behind him.

This memory and the bereavement he felt only make him cry harder, and he thinks that his pain is never going to end. Waves of agony keep crashing over him.

"House, I'm so sorry I hurt you like that," she mumbles against his back. He feels her tears dampen his shirt.

After what seems like an eternity, he can breathe again. He has a hard time crying in general. Breaking down like this in front of her embarrasses him so much he cannot even consider facing her. He pulls away from her and gets up swiftly from the couch to hide away in the bathroom. He pees and washes his face, then stares at his reflection in the mirror for a long time.

On his return to the living room, she is standing by the couch, leaning against its back. She looks thoughtful, her eyes cast down to the ground.

"I'm gonna head to my place," he utters as he walks past her towards the entrance. He needs some time to himself.

She seems unhappy about his decision, but acquiesces. "Okay."

He puts on his sneakers.

"House?" she calls out to him before he can pick up his helmet and leave.

He turns to her, avoiding her eyes.

"Are we okay?" She sounds concerned.

He inhales deeply and briefly glances at her. "Yeah," he nods. "Of course."

She takes a few steps toward him, and his arms open up to her on their own accord.

They stand in the living room for minutes, holding onto each other tightly. Her arms are wrapped around his waist; the side of her face is pressed against his chest. His chin is resting on the crown of her head.

He thinks this might be the first time he actually experiences what forgiveness feels like. All that is left in his heart are warmth and love for the woman in his arms. He is so grateful that she is a part of his life; that she is still by his side.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he assures her as he pulls away.

"Okay." She walks him to the door. He is already outside when she adds: "Drive safe. I love you." She sounds casual—as if they were saying this to each other every day.

He turns around to look at her. Her expression is relaxed, and she seems unwilling to elaborate any further. It was a simple statement of fact.

He is not up to having this discussion with her again, unable to pick a fight with her now, so he simply lets his eyes travel over her face and blinks several times before he continues making his way to his bike, trying to accept her words.


	37. Chapter 37

_Here's to some fluff. It's really short, but oh so sweet. _

**Chapter 37: Expressing Love**

He sits at the kitchen counter on a Saturday morning, eating leftover pizza from the previous night. Two weeks have passed since he told her about his past, and from then on she has persistently told him that she loves him. Exactly once every day. It occurs mostly in the form of an add-on—in the same way it did the first time.

When they talk on the phone, she ends the conversation with 'Bye, I love you.' When he spends the night in the guest room, she tells him on her way to bed. On the rare days they fail to see or talk to each other, she makes sure to send him a text before she goes to bed: 'Sleep well. Love you.' She tells him in the way she tells the kids: As if it were no big deal and the most natural thing in the world.

It irritates him. He has no idea about her motive. First he thought she was saying it out of guilt for having added to his pain, because of the break-up. After a week, he started to assume that maybe she just feels bad for him, and is in some way trying to make up for his unhappy childhood. She has increased her caresses, too, sometimes hugging him completely out of the blue or ruffling his hair for no apparent reason. Her behavior toward him has become almost motherly, and he hoped it was only a phase she would snap out of sooner or later, but so far she has not.

He is contemplating whether or not he wants to bring up the issue when Cuddy enters the kitchen, still in her PJs. "Hey," she mumbles, stifling a yawn. "What are you doing up so early?" She turns on the coffee machine.

"Read a bumper sticker yesterday, took it to heart. 'Seize the day.' I felt enlightened."

She gives him an ironic grin. "My favorite is still the one saying 'Better blowjobs than no jobs' with a picture of Bill Clinton next to it."

House chuckles.

"You want one?" she asks when her coffee finishes pouring.

"A blowjob? Always!"

She smirks and offers him the mug.

He shakes his head and holds up his pizza. "Would spoil the taste of my triple-cheese plus cheesy crust. Want some of this?"

She wrinkles her nose. "God, no." She adds milk to her coffee and takes a sip. "Gotta get some work done. Rache wants to go shopping with me later today." She walks around the kitchen isle, about to leave. Before she does, though, she comes up behind him and loosely drapes her free arm around his waist, giving him a hug. "Good morning, by the way. I love you."

He feels her cheek pressing against his spine. His mouth is suddenly dry, and he has a hard time chewing and swallowing his bite. "About that," he starts, dropping the piece of pizza on the carton.

She lifts her head, her chin poking his back. "You want me to stop?"

This is his dilemma and one of the reasons why he has not addressed the topic sooner: He likes hearing her say it. For the most part, he enjoys being fondled by her a little, which he refuses to admit out loud. He does feel better since they talked—as if a weight has been lifted from his chest. "I told you I didn't want you to treat me differently. I don't want pity."

She places her mug on the counter top. "Is that what you think this is? That I'm pitying you?" Her voice is low and rumbling against his back.

"You started the night I told you."

She sighs and pulls away from him, but only enough to swivel him around on the chair, making him face her. "I just decided to stop treating you the way your parents did. When you didn't function, according to them, they withdrew their care." Her hands rest on his knees. "However much I wished things were different between us, I accept that you don't want a romantic relationship with me. But I do love you." She furrows her eyebrows. "Please let me express that to you. Just once a day."

"There, you just said it twice," he points out. He knows he is being a jerk, but he is slightly uncomfortable about this.

She presses her lips together and closes her eyes briefly. "My apologies," she says earnestly. "It won't happen again."

He observes her face carefully while formulating his next words. "You sure you aren't secretly hoping, each time, for me to tell you back?"

"Nope." She shakes her head decidedly. "You never have to say it."

He shrugs.

She smiles, picks up her mug, and heads out.

_Author Note:_

_I've been getting double posts from people leaving guest reviews. Here's how the system works: Guest reviews do not appear on the site right away. I get an E-mail when I receive a comment, and for guest comments the system leaves me a two day time frame to moderate the review (I guess in case of nasty or inappropriate content). So I can click confirm and the review appears the moment I do, I can delete the comment, or not do anything at all. When I don't do anything, which is usually what happens because I don't log onto the site a lot and I don't get any mean reviews, the guest review shows up automatically two days later._

_So, long story short: No worries anything got lost. Your review will show up 48 h after you posted it, at the latest._


	38. Chapter 38

_At ocean: Aw, that's sweet! No need to be sad, yet, there's still several chapters left. ;-)_

**Chapter 38: The Swan and the Duck**

After almost a year of therapy with Dr. Nolan, House has waded through the worst and darkest hours of his childhood.

His days are becoming brighter, his breath flows more evenly, and he takes an active part in life again.

It is a Wednesday night in December, and they celebrated the kids' birthdays on the previous two weekends: Rachel turned eighteen, John fourteen. Rachel is a Senior in high school and mostly enjoying her final year. They have been discussing potential colleges over the summer, and she is in the process of writing applications. John is in his last year of middle school, and thus far shows no signs of teenage drama.

House is sitting on the couch, zapping through channels, waiting for Cuddy. He spent the evening with the kinds until they went to their rooms about half an hour ago, getting ready for bed. It has been snowing all day, and Cuddy's car broke down on her way home. She had called in briefly when she was at the repair shop, getting it fixed.

He glances at the entrance several times, getting slightly nervous. She should be home by now. He picks up his phone to check his messages when he finally hears her keys turn in the lock.

"Hey," she greets him when she walks into the living room. Her annoyance and frustration is palpable.

"Most wonderful time of the year?" he says in mock cheer.

"Hardly." She shakes out her hat and coat, having brought in snow from outside. "I waited _for an hour_ for that damn tow truck to arrive. In a broken down car. I was freezing!" She rubs her hands together and throws her purse on the sideboard. "The tiny waiting area at the car repair shop felt like it was made of tin and not much warmer, either."

"Why didn't you call earlier?" he asks.

"Nothing you could've done," she utters, walking over to the couch.

"I _do_ have a car with a functioning heating system."

"I didn't think it would take 'em that long. Plus, I figured it was better you stay here with the kids." She sits down on the edge of the couch close to the fireplace, takes off her socks, and starts to knead one foot, to restart the blood flow, while holding the other towards the warmth of the fire. "I see you've had a cozy evening," she says, eyeing him enviously. He is lying on his back under a soft blanket, propped up on several pillows.

"You want me to heat up some dinner for you?" he offers.

"No. I just wanna get warm." She looks him up and down, and seems to come up with an idea, her expression a mixture of hope and apprehension.

He knows what she wants, and raises his eyebrows at her doubtfully.

"I'll keep my hands in check," she pledges, lifting her arms, her palms facing him.

He is more worried about his own restraint if she were to cuddle up to him as if she were his girlfriend, and when he loves her as if she were his wife, but he cannot bring himself to deny her. He scoots to the side of the couch and holds up the blanket for her.

A brief look of delight crosses her face, and she tiptoes to him quickly, possibly worried he might change his mind again. She snuggles under the blanket with him, a contented hum escaping the back of her throat when her body meets his. She briefly rubs her cold nose against his chest.

"You're not wiping your snot on my shirt, are you?" he jokes.

"Could be," she quips, and nestles her head on his shoulder.

He feels the soft curve of her breasts against the side of his torso, and tries to shift his focus. One of her cold hands is wedged in between their bodies; the other is resting on his chest. He has his arm draped around her, his hand, balled into a fist, is lying on the cushion near the small of her back.

"I love you," she mumbles. She had not told him today thus far.

He feels the rise and fall of her ribcage against his while he contemplates her words. "I find that hard to believe," he admits eventually. Lately, he has observed his reaction to her words. Dr. Nolan had asked how he feels to be told he is loved, and he had a hard time responding. He realized that he frequently brushes her words away—that he cannot accept them.

"You think I'm lying?" she asks, slight confusion ringing in her voice.

"Nope. I know you believe it. I'm the one with doubts. The destructive part in me goes 'Yeah, right. No way.' And that part is disproportionately large, as you know."

"So because a big part of you is convinced you're not very lovable, you cannot fathom that someone else could."

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Can't you just change that thought?" She presses her cold feet against his shin.

He shakes his head. "I tried. A lot. But it keeps coming back. Like an imprint: impossible to overwrite. Or a tattoo that needs to be eradicated again and again. Resurfacing, no matter how hard I rub at it."

"Because of how you were treated. As a child." Her voice is quiet and sad.

"You know the story about the swan and the duck?"

She moves her head from side to side, her cheek rubbing against his shirt.

"My grandma used to tell me." He scratches his stubble, contemplating how the story went. "Once upon a time," he says in the voice of an announcer, "in the buzzing springtime, all plumage laid their eggs so their feathery offspring would be greeted with sunshine once they hatched. A fiendish creature managed to switch one egg from the duck nest with an egg from the swan nest—simply out of fiendishness and curiosity—without the duck couples' or the swan couples' notice. No idea what they were doing, probably having another round of fun in the reed bushes." The rumble of her chuckle resonates in his chest. "They obviously screwed each other's brains out, because when their ducklings and swanlings hatched, they didn't notice the misplacement. The swan parents simply thought they had one rather ugly offspring, and the duck parents were surprised and perhaps a bit worried about the neck malformation of one of theirs. So the duck grew up thinking it was ugly, and the swan grew up thinking it was sick. Both were bullied by their brothers and sisters, but they were raised as part of the family. They learned to swim and think and behave like the respective other species."

"That's the story?" she asks when he stops talking.

"No. It's actually the story of the ugly duck who someday sees himself reflected in the surface of the water, realizes he has been misplaced, and goes to find his real family where they look just as ugly as him, thus overcoming his complexes."

"That's still awful." He hears the frown in her voice. "Your grandma used to tell you that?"

"The point is: The duck continued to swim like a swan, with it's head up high to compensate for its short neck, quacked like a swan, dived like a swan… So now its real siblings were making fun of it, too."

Cuddy remains far from enthused. "I hope you never told the kids that story," she says drily, and looks up at him briefly with a teasing smile on her lips, gently scoffing him about the fact that his tail keeps on deteriorating.

"Oh, shut up," he retorts. "Obviously I forgot the moral of it—unless it was: You're screwed either way—but what I'm trying to say is—"

"That you grew up feeling like a misfit," she finishes the sentence for him. "That you were brought up believing you needed to change. In order to fit in. To obtain approval."

He nods, feeling understood but helpless. "It's hard to reprogram the core units of the system your early childhood was built upon."

She sighs and takes a moment to consider his words. He realizes that his hand has found its way to the small of her back without him noticing. "Maybe it's impossible to completely reboot and fully restart, but the duck _can_ still learn from its siblings. By observation. Realize that the craning of the neck is no longer necessary… You can do the same. Watch the kids and mimic them. Swim differently."

"You want me to join in their fun game of calling each other 'shit-head'?" he jokes.

"You know what I mean. You could tell them you're proud of them, hug them occasionally, let Rachel know you'll miss her when she moves away for college…" He draws in a breath, about to deny it, but she cuts him off. "I know you will, House."

"She'll think I've lost it for good and that I'd be better off in a mental institution. It would weird them out."

"That's the duck talking," she counters. "You're the one who would feel awkward because you're not used to swimming like you were meant to. Once you get past that initial weirdness, it will turn into a habit."

"I don't believe that a change in behavior changes the way of thinking. Thoughts first, actions second."

"Then ask them about how they think," she suggests. "Maybe you can adapt that as well. Ask them how they know they are lovely human beings. If they know they are loved even when you don't tell them often."

He contemplates her suggestion for a while. "What about you?"

"What about me?" She moves her hand from his chest to his ribcage, wedging it in between the side of his torso and his arm. "Do I know I'm loved?"

"Yeah."

She cranes her head to look at him with a frown. "By you?"

He shrugs, pretending not to care, although he actually feels his pulse climbing as he awaits her answer.

She positions her head more comfortably again, which prevents him from searching her eyes. He wishes he could see her face. After a moment, she whispers: "Yes. Very much."

He is surprised by the conviction he hears in her statement. "How come?"

She draws back from him, a slight smile tugging on her lips. He removes his arm so she can scoot up further on the couch and rest her head on a cushion next to his. She obviously wants to look at him while sharing her thoughts. Her eyes are big and shining. "First of all, you want to know everything about me—"

"Makes it easier to manipulate you," he interjects.

"And you _remember_ everything about me," she continues, ignoring his comment.

"Lot's of storage up there." He taps at his temple.

"You didn't have a girlfriend since me—"

"I was married since you."

"—not counting migrant hookers."

"I think I was busy the day potential candidates were lining up on my doorstep," he says sarcastically.

His rationalizations do not make her waver for a second. Her whole face is beaming. "You always make sure I'm warm."

This is true. He hates the cold, and is big on covering her and the kids up with blankets when they have fallen asleep on the couch. When they go out in the fall or springtime, he has made a habit of taking an extra jacket because Cuddy frequently forgets and always feels chilly in the evening. "You're whiny when you have a snotty nose."

"When you come here and I'm not around, you always look for me. Even when John and Rachel are both in the living room, you ask them 'Where is your mother?' And unless I'm in the shower, you come and say hi. Because you _want_ to see me."

"You're the only one with cleavage in the house. At least one it's appropriate to stare at. And I _can_ add the shower to my search-zone, if you want."

She maintains her knowing smile, neither appalled nor distracted by his words. "No. You don't look at my breasts. You look at me." Her sparkling eyes search his face. "Trying to hide a smile."

House swallows hard and turns his head towards the ceiling. He has the odd sensation of having been caught. He was oblivious of her awareness and insight into his feelings, always determined to prevent others from knowing who or what he cares about. He ponders what he needs to change to better maintain his poker face in the future, when she picks up on his trail of thought.

"No, House, please don't stop." She looks troubled about having unsettled him. "I won't hold it against you."

This is what happened all throughout his childhood. Whenever he showed his feelings or shared his likes and dislikes, his dad used this knowledge to punish him. He could not afford letting anyone know when he was happy, because his happiness would either become crushed or perversely turned against him. So he eventually stopped giving anything about himself away. He suppressed his feelings and ultimately forgot how to feel them at all. Even now, it occasionally takes an entire session with Dr. Nolan to pinpoint what originally upset him in a specific situation. He frequently fails to notice his emotions in the moment they occur.

His vision is getting blurry, and he feels embarrassed about the tears springing to his eyes. This, too, she is aware of, and she drops her gaze from his face. She resumes her position from before, her head resting on his shoulder, and takes his hand.

He chews on the inside of his lip.

Her stomach grumbles.

Lying with her, he worries if too many parts of him are irreversibly broken, damaged, and screwed up, afraid that he will never be able to fix himself. For the millionth time he wonders why she puts up with him.

She waits until he has clamed down before she announces that she is hungry.

"Thanks for the heat," she says, and nuzzles her now warm nose against his shirt in the same way as before. "You want anything from the kitchen?" she asks, getting up.

"Nope," he replies, his eyes following her petite form as she walks across the room. "I'm good."

_Author note: _

_I knoooow, so sappy. Again. But I suppose you guys don't mind. X-D_

_Have a nice Easter weekend!_


	39. Chapter 39

_All right, guys, updated deluxe... No, just kidding, no biggie. The next two chapters are slightly more kids themed. Hope you enjoy anyways._

**Chapter 39: House Asks Rachel a Question**

House tries to put some of what Cuddy suggested into practice, but in his own way. In the middle of a jam session with John, House casually drops the line that when he was a kid, he never imagined that being a dad could be this cool. At Rachel's graduation ceremony, which they attend as a family, he whistles so loudly when her name is being read that people in the row in front of them turn their heads. Cuddy looks up at him with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face; he puts his arm around her shoulders.

A couple of months later, he asks Cuddy about her opinion regarding his idea of adopting Rachel. Just like a song that gets interrupted in the morning replays internally all throughout the day—as if demanding to be heard; in need for a proper ending—the thought kept returning to him over the summer.

"Really?" She looks surprised. "Why?"

He has a hard time explaining it to himself. "When she's in Boston meeting new peeps and everyone's going home for Thanksgiving, she wouldn't have to say 'I'm going to my mom, my brother and _his_ dad' and go through the length of explaining it all, she could just say 'I'm going home to see my parents and my brother.'"

"Right," Cuddy says sarcastically, drawing out the 'R' and concealing a knowing smile by pulling in her lower lip. They are both aware of his bullshit rationalization, and she remains quiet.

"So you wouldn't mind?" He has been unsure of whether Cuddy would even be willing to share her daughter with him. Nothing was ever explicitly stated, but him parenting John had felt more welcome than him parenting Rachel. Perhaps not more welcome, but more of a given, more natural.

She shakes her head. "Not in the least." Her words sound sincere.

"How do you think she'll react?" He needs her reassurance; afraid he might make a fool of himself and be turned down. Rachel is eighteen and almost out of the house. She has run out of the need for a dad. The irrationality of the idea bothers him. His old self would have made a mockery of such an enterprise.

Cuddy smiles at him. "I'm sure she'd love it!" Then she presses her lips together, seeming less certain. "I think. I never talked to her about it. It's definitely a big offer."

House sighs.

"Would you mind me being there when you ask her?"

He shrugs. "With a mop at hand, ready to clean up the mess and wipe my tears off the floor?"

"I'm sure she'll be happy." She rubs his arm. "When did you wanna ask her?"

He shrugs again, beginning to second-guess himself.

Cuddy walks to the door leading to the hallway. "Rache, would you come here for a minute?"

House stares at her in disbelief, his jaw dropping. "Not now," he hisses at her through gritted teeth.

"Why not?" she turns to him nonchalantly, settling her hands on her hips. "I can tell you're already starting to pussy up. Better now than never. Carpe diem. Bumper sticker, remember?" She grins at him.

"I don't even know—"

At that moment, Rachel enters the living room. "What's up?"

"House wants to ask you something." Cuddy explains, giving House a pointed look.

He has no idea what to say, feeling unprepared. His heart speeds up and his hands are getting sweaty. A part of him hates Cuddy for having put him on the spot. Another part of him knows that if he does not ask now, he probably never will. His doubts will expand and eventually turn unconquerable. He sits down on the couch, heaving a sigh.

"Okay," Rachel says, slightly irritated, and slowly pads after him, coming to a halt in front of him. Cuddy remains standing by the door to the hallway, keeping a little distance.

"I've been thinking," he starts, scratching his head. "I know you're leaving. Soon. And, uh, I was wondering—although it's kinda late in the game—and it's completely fine if you think it's nuts…" He rubs his leg, looking down at the carpet.

"House?" Rachel raises her eyebrows and pushes her chin forward twice, encouraging him to go on.

"Right." He is not sure he has ever been this nervous about anything in his life. "So, I already talked to your mom, and she'd be okay with it." He takes another breath.

"Jeez, mom really _is_ patient with you," Rachel sighs. "Would you spill it already?"

House swallows hard and nods. His mouth feels dry. "As much as I still consider you a mingy binge rat and an occasional pain in the ass, I would like to adopt you. If you want." He holds his breath and glances up at her tentatively.

Rachel stares at him blankly for a couple of seconds that feel like an eternity to House. It seems to him that her face has frozen and everything in the room is standing still, and he is the only one realizing that time is passing. Suddenly and completely out of nowhere, as if someone has pressed a 'Play' button again, Rachel burst into tears.

He has no idea what is going on and why she is crying. Rachel was never particularly emotional, and when she was upset she generally preferred sorting out her feelings in private. He can count on one or two hands the number of times he has seen her cry, and is completely dumbstruck. He stares at her for a moment, then he helplessly turns his head to Cuddy.

She seems similarly surprised and confused by Rachel's reaction, but swiftly sets herself into motion and walks over to them, putting a hand on her daughter's back. "Sweetie, what's going on?" she asks her gently.

Rachel holds her hands in front of her face, sobbing into them quietly. Her shoulders are slumped, and she takes in shaky breaths.

"Hey. Honey," Cuddy says empathetically, putting her arms around her, pulling her into a hug from the side. "Why are you so upset?"

Rachel sniffles her nose and wipes at her tears. "I just didn't expect this at all anymore." Her voice is quivering.

Cuddy pulls back to look at her questioningly. "There used to be a time when you did expect it?"

"Well, not necessarily expect. I guess I was hoping." She shrugs her shoulders. "But that was years ago." She pushes her hair behind her ear. "At some point I accepted that this just wasn't gonna to happen."

House is surprised and shocked by her admission. "Why the hell didn't you ever say anything?"

"Yeah, right," she scoffs sarcastically. "How pathetic would that have been? 'House, would you please consider being my dad?'" She swallows hard. "What choice would you've had, really, other than to say yes? And then I never would've known if you sincerely wanted it."

"Why did you never mention it to me?" Cuddy asks, her fingers carefully combing through Rachel's hair.

Rachel puffs out some air and rolls her eyes at her mother. "Like you wouldn't have told him." She looks at House. "I wanted it to be _your_ idea."

"Wait," he squints his eyes at her, "is that what you meant when you asked me 'What about me?' when I told you about custody for John?"

Her sigh sounds almost desperate. "For someone with an IQ two standard deviations above the norm, you can be _so_ dull sometimes." She merely shakes her head at the thought that he only now realized why she had been upset.

"I prefer the term _emotionally handicapped_," he quips, rubbing his leg. At the time, the idea that she could want him for a parent lay so far beyond his realm of imagination it had truly never crossed his mind.

"So does this mean 'Yes' then?" Cuddy inquires, returning to the fundamental core of their conversation.

House looks at Rachel expectantly, holding his breath again. "I'd understand if you wouldn't want an emotional cripple for a dad."

Rachel returns his gaze, looking him straight in the eye for a long time. Then the corners of her mouth twitch upward and she smiles through her tears, giving him a small but decisive nod of the head. "Of course I do," she whispers.

House smiles back at her and gets up from the couch to pull her into his arms, hugging both her and Cuddy.

"What's going on?" John walks into the living room.

Cuddy is the first one to find her voice again. "Your dad is going to adopt Rachel," she beams at him, her eyes glistening.

John grins. He focuses on his sister as he approaches the three of them. "See, I told you he'd get around to it." He playfully rubs his knuckles over Rachel's head.

"You knew about this?" Cuddy asks in surprise.

"A little heads up would have been nice," House grumbles.

"John always keeps my secrets," Rachel smiles at her brother.

House realizes how frustrating it must have been at times for John and Rachel with two such overbearing and hard to deceive parents. It obviously left them no other option but to team up against them and outmaneuver them every once in a while.

John joins their group hug, and they decide to go out for dinner and celebrate.


	40. Chapter 40

_A little sweet something for the weekend. Just to make you feel funny. =)_

**Chapter 40: A Car Ride**

At the end of the summer, they help Rachel move into a dorm at the University of Massachusetts. They pack her things into the trunks and backseats of Rachel's car and House's car on the Saturday before the semester starts, and head to Boston early in the morning on Sunday. Cuddy accompanies Rachel; John drives up with House.

They all have a hard time saying goodbye and parting ways at the end of the day.

With House behind the wheel, Cuddy cries the first half hour on the ride back to Princeton.

"Come on, now. It's not like she's dead," House eventually states, briefly patting her knee.

"Plus, I'm still here," John adds from the back seat. "The house is still half full." He sits behind House and pushes his leg trough the middle of the front seats, placing his foot on Cuddy's seat. He has grown at least a couple of feet in the last half year, and has reached Cuddy's height. His voice is dark and mature.

"I know," Cuddy wipes at her eyes and grabs John's shin and the sole of his foot, holding onto him. "Thank God you're four years younger. I hereby officially forbid you to follow in your dad's footprints and skip a grade of high school," she jests. She takes out a tissue and blows her nose.

"You did?" John asks, his voice directed at House. "I didn't know that."

House has hardly shared anything about his past with the kids. He briefly glances at Cuddy, who guiltily bites on her lower lip. She obviously omitted thinking for a second. "Yeah. Senior year," he mumbles.

"How come? Too bored?"

"Let's just say I wasn't shedding any tears moving away for college."

John is quiet for a minute and House already feels relieved the conversation ended when John tentatively asks: "What happened to you?"

House is not sure exactly how much Cuddy revealed to the kids during the months of his depression last year. "My dad wasn't my actual dad," House elaborates slowly and cautiously. "Same as Michael wasn't yours. Besides that common feature, they were completely opposite characters. That's assuming Michael never socked you or washed your mouth with soap. Or locked you up." This is as much as House is willing and able to disclose.

"Oh." John pulls back his foot and sits up in his seat, searching House's eyes in the rearview mirror. House briefly glances at him, and then focuses back on the road. He feels John's eyes on him for a while, not sure whether his son is simply lost in thought or trying to find words. Something seems to come to his mind. "Is that why you lost it that one time? When I pushed you?"

House bites down on the inside of his cheek.

Cuddy turns her upper body and looks back and forth between John and House. House never told her about the incident, and obviously neither had John.

Several months ago, they had been quarreling about something that House cannot even remember. It was a meaningless dispute and House had been provoking John—more in form of a tease than out of actual nastiness—and pushed him to a point where John literally pushed back. Not hard—the shove was far from aggressive—but House staggered backwards and slumped against the wall of the hallway, completely shocked. In that instant, House's worlds were colliding and tumbling down on him, his past catching up with his present and manifesting itself in the future, in the form of his son. Unable to grasp reality, he was gaping at John while internally shifting into the little boy whose dad had shoved him backwards through the door and down the stairs into the dark cellar. His heart was racing and he had stopped breathing for several cycles. He thought he was going to have a panic attack right there in front of his son.

Shaken and concerned by House's severe reaction, John had immediately rushed to House's side to support him under his arm, mumbling numerous apologies, without having truly understood the effects of his action.

House looks in the mirror, his own eyes reflected in his son's.

"I'm sorry, Dad," John whispers as he leans forward and warps his arms around the head rest as well as House's shoulders and chest.

"It's okay."

John swallows. "It's why you went ballistic when you picked me up after school when I had the black eye."

He is referring to a moment from several years ago, a few months after Cuddy and the kids had moved to Princeton. At school during PE, John had caught an elbow in the eye playing football. House was waiting for him in the car, picking him up after school. When John got in, House was beside himself, fearing the worst. 'Who did this to you?' he demanded in a raised voice. John was taken aback. 'It was an accident, Dad.' 'Who the hell did this to you?'

It was one of the very few times House had yelled at his son.

"I didn't want any pain for you," House states quietly. "At least not physically." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cuddy pressing her lips together. She reaches over and places her hand on his thigh—his right thigh—and it bothers him less than he thought it would. "And I'm glad you received mostly the opposite. Gentleness. Thanks to your mother."

"And thanks to you," John points out. He still has his arms around House and slightly squeezes his shoulder. "I love you, Dad."

House grips tightly onto the stirring wheel, his chest flooding with emotions. His vision is getting blurry. After a beat he says quietly: "You don't have the faintest idea about how much that means to me."

John gently smiles at him through the mirror. "Oh, but I can see it. Are you tearin' up, Dad?"

House smirks and pats John's arm. "Enough now. If you want me to get us home in one piece."

John sits back, and Cuddy removes her hand from House's thigh, wiping away her own tears.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41: A New Year**

The house is much more quiet without Rachel, and House indeed misses her.

They sign and file the adoption papers a couple of weeks before Rachel's nineteenth birthday when she is home visiting for Thanksgiving. House expresses his gratitude for each of them when they are seated around the dinner table, saying their thanks. Although they are not living the most typical of family arrangements, he feels the strong bond and the deep connection between all of them.

He is happy when Rachel returns home again for Christmas. She is chatty as usual, sharing her exciting first-year-of-college stories with them.

On the day of New Years Eve, both House and Cuddy have to work. Rachel and John are going out, each of them invited to parties at friends' homes.

During the day, Cuddy calls House at work to ask something trivial about a case. Before ending the conversation, House asks: "What are you wearing?"

"I'm hanging up now," she retorts, but he hears the smile in her voice.

He musters up the courage to ask her about her plans for the night.

"Oh, I'll probably just crash on the couch with some take out and scotch, and fall asleep around nine. It's been a long week." He hears the tiredness in her voice. "You?"

"Same. Maybe porn instead of the scotch."

She chuckles.

There is a pause in which neither of them speaks, and they just listen to each other's breath.

Cuddy is the first one to break the silence: "House," she says. Just that. But so much more is implied. A sigh. A statement. A plea.

He comes up with several possible interpretations: House, why don't you just state what you want? House, please come over. House, when will you stop pretending?

It is the first slightest sign of impatience.

After a beat, she takes a breath and composes herself. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

He hears the phone disconnect and hangs his head.

In the next few hours, their conversation keeps popping up in his mind, although he is supposed to be solving a case. He cannot focus.

At around four, he texts her: 'Your couch, my Chinese favorite?'

'Porn or food?' she texts back.

He smirks.

They spend the evening on the couch, watch a movie, and eat their way through the take out he brought. He pretends not to put his arm around her by resting it on the back of the couch; she pretends to fall asleep as an excuse to lean into him.

Eventually, she does nod off, and he turns off the TV. Evolved in silence, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and looks at her sleeping form for a long time.

The moment he hears a line of firecrackers going off in the distance he picks her up in his arms.

"What time is it?" she mumbles against his chest, woken up by the noise and the feeling of weightlessness from being carried.

"Just after midnight," he whispers back, pushing the door to her bedroom open.

"Hm." She nuzzles her nose against the collar of his shirt. "I love you." It is another day, another year, and she takes the renewed opportunity to tell him.

He is so happy to have her in his arms, to smell her and feel her against him, that the words are dancing on the tip of his tongue. Of course he feels the same way. And he wants to be with her. So badly. If only…

His mind jumps into the space between the words and his vocal chords, and he sets her down gently on the bed, remaining silent. He is too fond of their current dynamic. Too afraid of the consequences that might follow: Of everything that might happen if they were to try this again. Too scared it might change them.

Pulling the blankets over her, he makes a mental compromise between his fear and his longing to be with her tonight, and slides in under the covers with her, drawing her close.

She readily snuggles up against him, sighing with contentment.

'This is enough,' he tells himself, feeling the rise and fall of her ribcage. He has a family: Three people who appreciate and love and respect him; who take him as he his. He could not possibly ask for more. "Happy New Year, Cuddy," he mumbles into her hair.

She remains silent, having already drifted back to sleep.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

House wakes up disoriented the next day, woken up by Rachel busting into the room. Cuddy is nowhere to be seen, and he is caught off-guard for a moment, feeling somewhat exposed. "This is not what you think it is," he stammers.

"I doubt mom would send me in here to come get you for breakfast if you two had been doing the naked pretzel last night," Rachel smiles, sounding chipper. "You wanna know what I _do_ think?"

House rubs at his eyes and sits up in bed. He has a huge hard-on, and tries to conceal it by bundling up the blankets over his crotch. "I'm assuming that's a rhetorical question and you are going to throw around your wisdom anyways," he retorts without masking his annoyance. "Although you should know by now not to waste it on me. But I guess some people never learn."

She approaches the bed and looks at him sternly. "I think that you are madly in love with mom. And I think she is madly in love with you," she states matter-of-factly. "And I think you're a coward."

"Fantastic. A life lesson from a I-just-started-having-a-life college Freshman this early in the year—how much more joyous will it get?" he asks sarcastically. "Crappy New Year to you, too."

Rachel gives him a sublime smile, seemingly unaffected by his grumpiness. She pulls out some gum from her pants pocket and holds it out to him. "Trust me, you need it."

He shoots her an angry look, but takes the gum anyways. "That adoption thing, you think there is any way to retract from that?"

She sits down on the bed, puts her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. "Happy New Year, House."

He is slightly perplexed by the gesture and searches her face probingly. "What, I jerk you around on a sensitive subject and all I'm getting is some lovin'?" He squints at her. "Does that mean maybe you got _some lovin'_ yourself last night?"

Rachel's cheeks turn pink and she averts her eyes.

"Oh my God!" he exclaims. He had been fishing in the dark and actually meant it as a joke. "You had sex last night?" He looks at her flabbergasted. "Did you use protection?"

She rises from the bed and takes a step away from him. "Yes we did, and would you keep your voice down?" she hisses through gritted teeth. "This is not exactly the first conversation I wanna have with mom in the new year."

He lowers his voice. "Well, was it good?" he inquires, interested to know more.

Rachel shrugs.

House tucks his chin, his eyebrows furrowed. "If you don't _know_, it wasn't any good." He pushes away the blankets and grabs for his cane. "I'd love to hear the whole sad story, but I kinda gotta take care of a little something myself, here," he says, getting up. "Actually, not a little something."

"Ew, gross," Rachel wails, her hand flying to cover her eyes, her head jerking away from the sight. "You really have a problem, you know?" She calls on him as he walks past her. "Would you just tell her?"

"How about you take care of your own problems?" he throws over his shoulder. "Like, finding a guy who knows what he's doing down there." With that he slams the bathroom door behind him.

When he is done in the bathroom, he walks into the dining room still in his PJs. Rachel and John are sitting at the table, John preoccupied with his cell phone; Cuddy is bustling around, setting the table. The air is filled with the smell of pancakes and syrup, and House feels his tummy grumbling.

When he walks past John, he ruffles his hair. "Happy 2027."

"Same," John mumbles, not sounding very chipper.

House walks around the table until he is standing next to Cuddy, who is in the middle of placing a bowl of fruit salad next to a plate toppled with pancakes. He briefly puts his hand on her waist to pull her close. "Good morning," he tells her cheerfully, and kisses her cheek.

She turns to him with a surprised but amused look on her face. "_You're_ obviously having one," she smiles.

This is the first time John's eyes leave the screen of his cell phone. "Did you two do it last night?" he probes, frowning at them.

"What, I can't show my affection to your mother without being currently shtupping her?" House asks.

"We didn't," Cuddy clarifies, distributing silverware. "And John, you know the rules about phones at the table."

John sighs and tucks his phone away.

"So, now that we've established we didn't have sex," House gestures between him and Cuddy, "and Rachel did, what about you, John?"

Cuddy freezes in her tracks and both John and Cuddy turn their heads toward Rachel. "What?" Cuddy asks, slightly aghast. "You had sex last night?"

Rachel stares at House accusatorily.

"Come on, you know I can't keep a thing from your mother for more than five minutes," he quips. "Unless it serves my case, of course." He sits down next to John.

"Well, did you use protection?" Cuddy inquires, taking the seat beside Rachel.

Rachel rolls her eyes.

While Rachel deals with Cuddy's interrogation, House quietly talks to John. The diffusion has been purposefully laid so he could have a word with just John. "So, you didn't get lucky last night?" House asks, helping himself to a pancake.

"Yeah, I wish." John sounds bummed.

"Not even a kiss at midnight?" John had told House that the girl he liked was attending the same party.

John shakes his head, pouring himself some orange juice.

"Weren't there any other hot chicks around?"

John shrugs. "She's the most beautiful. And she's smart, and funny. Everybody's into her."

"See, that's the problem," House explains, munching on his pancake. "If you wanna score with a girl, you need to look at a girl who is also looking at you."

"Nobody's looking at me."

"I'm sure that's not true. You're smart, funny, and quite the looker yourself." House winks at him.

John gives him a dubious frown.

"Of course you are! You're the combination of me and your mom, that's a jackpot gene pool right there." House smirks.

Cuddy and Rachel finish quarreling and listen in on their conversation. "What are you two talking about?" Cuddy wants to know.

"I was telling John that if he keeps chasing after the girl of his dreams, that's what _being with a girl_ will remain: a dream."

"So he should settle with second best?" Cuddy asks doubtfully, her eyebrow shooting up.

"I'm just saying he should be open for other possibilities. And, who knows, he might still end up with who he actually wanted." He lunges for another pancake, eating with gusto. "You gotta mix interest with indifference, those are the main ingredients. Chicks dig that. Once you start looking the other direction, you'll be more fascinating for her. She's used to having all eyes on her, and she'll want your attention back."

John starts filling his plate. He seems not fully convinced, but definitely less gloomy than before.

"Trust me, I was quite the ladies magnet. Even with the cane. For female brands born with a rescue-gene, emotional neediness helps, too."

Cuddy raises her eyebrows, but refrains from commenting.

"Just look at your mother. She still only has eyes for me." He says this both with arrogance and humor, a smart-ass smirk crossing his face, holding Cuddy's gaze. "Pancakes are duh-licious, by the way," he adds with his mouth full.

She looks at him meaningfully. After a beat, she shakes her head mildly, the corners of her lips twitching up, and continues to eat.

_Author Note: Fasten your seatbelts for the next one. It's not gonna be what you think._


	42. Chapter 42

_To my nice Guest: Glad I could save the day :)_

_Some of you already told me they have their seat belts fastened (how sweet you are), for the rest of you: buckle up! Ready?_

_3…_

_2…_

_1…_

_GO!_

**Chapter 42: The Car Accident**

It is 7.20pm, and Cuddy should have been home twenty minutes ago. They had been texting during the day, and House had offered to make dinner even though John is currently away at the beach with a small group of friends over Spring break. The rice is cooked, the fish is kept warm in the oven, and the salad is waiting in a bowl, but Cuddy is a no show. Usually when she runs late and they had agreed on a specific time, she would text him a number, which was short for 'I'll be there in X minutes'.

He wants to avoid admitting his concern—maybe something important came up at the hospital and she was too caught up to inform him—so he sends her a text instead of calling her: 'The fish is drying out. Not that it hasn't already, being on shore and all.'

House starts pacing around the couch. Five minutes later, there is still no response from her.

He gives up resisting the urge and finally tries to call her, but only reaches her voice mail. He hangs up. Maybe she left work late, forgot her phone on her desk, and is now stuck in traffic. He calls her again. Nothing. No one picks up on the line in her office, either.

He uses his phone to search for a general number for hospital administration. When he finds it and manages to ask his way through to one of her assistants, his palms start so sweat. "She left about a half hour ago. I've been trying to reach her, too. There was a massive car pileup on Highway 1, with at least 20 cars involved. We've sent out a dozen ambulances, and we're definitely having a full ER tonight."

Highway 1 was on Cuddy's way home. "Which direction?" House asks, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"I don't know, why?" her assistant asks. "Oh, shit. You think…?"

House turns on the TV, zipping through the channels until he finds one that broadcasts local news. He freezes when he sees live pictures from the site, a news reporter rambling something about the road being blocked from both sides. "I gotta go." House hangs up.

For a moment he stares at the screen, panic spreading into his chest and his gut. Then he manages to get a grip on himself, his rational mind taking the upper hand. On the banner running through the bottom part of the display, he reads the names of the junctions between which the accident occurred, takes his cane, phone, helmet, jacket, and keys, and hurries out the door.

Right before he is about to start the engine on his bike, he remembers the oven, hurries back inside and turns it off.

Once he hits the road, he is glad he took his motorcycle to her place. As he nears the site of the accident, chaos has broken out on the streets. It is still rush hour, and the roads are jammed with cars trying to bypass the roadblock on Highway 1 and find their way out of the traffic jam. House manages to weave his way through the congestion, all the while keeping an eye out for her car. Maybe her phone is still in her office and she is just stuck somewhere here. Whenever he is forced to stop at a red light, he pulls out his phone and continues to try and reach her.

He drives up close to the south end of the site. She would have been coming towards him from the north. He parks his motorcycle at a restaurant near the turnpike, and hides his helmet in the bushes surrounding the parking lot—he wants to have at least one hand free. He limps towards the highway while making several more attempts to get a hold of her.

It is twilight, the sun has just set, and he sees numerous revolving blue and yellow lights only several yards ahead of him. As he approaches the site, he can make out damaged cars, tow trucks, police cars, ambulances, and also several fire trucks. There is smoke rising up further back. The atmosphere is hectic and tense, people bustling around like ants. He hears sirens of more ambulances approaching in the distance, the crackling of police radios as dispatchers rattle off information, and authoritative personnel shouting orders.

Crowds of bystanders have formed behind the taped off street. People are filming and taking pictures with their phones.

House ducks under the tape. He needs to find her.

He makes his way past the first tow truck when a young and green looking police officer stops him. "Sir, I'm gonna need you to step back behind the tape."

"I'm a doctor. I heard about the crash. I'm here to help."

The officer seizes him up. "Can I see your medical license, please?"

House grabs for his back pocket. 'Damn, damn, damn,' he curses internally. He forgot to take his wallet. "I left it on the coffee table. I was in a rush."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I do not have permission to let you access the site. We have plenty of doctors here; they got it under control. Just let us do our jobs."

House presses his hand to his forehead, looking around desperately. "Look, I need to—" he starts, but stops when he sees it: Cuddy's car, about 100 feet ahead of him, jammed into the middle crash barrier almost frontally. The hood of the car is completely dented. Through the passenger door of which the side window is missing, he can see that there is hardly any room left between the steering wheel and the driver's seat. The white cloth of the deployed airbag is brightly visible against the black upholstery of the seat.

He stares at it in disbelief, unable to breathe. "That car," he stammers, pointing at it with his cane. "There was a woman in that car. Can you tell me where she is?"

The officer turns his head briefly. "Sir, I just arrived here myself. My job is to prevent people like you from trespassing. I am asking you again to get back behind the tape."

House ignores him and starts walking towards her car.

The officer stops him, placing his hand firmly against his chest. "Have I not made myself clear?"

"This is my-my-my wife's car," House stutters, all the while staring at the wreck. He hopes the lie will convince the cop to let him through. "I need to know where she is."

"First a doctor, now a relative," the officer eyes him suspiciously. "You're not wearing a ring. There's enough people here filming already. Stop with the games and step behind the damn tape." He starts pushing House backwards.

House loses his patience. "No, you don't understand, damn it! Get your hands off me!" He shoves the officer's arm away.

Their quarrel is obviously starting to draw attention, because a second officer pulls out of the crowd of helpers and comes walking towards them. "Jeff, is there a problem here?"

"This man refuses to follow my orders to leave the site," Jeff explains.

House turns to the other officer desperately. "This is my wife's car," he sticks with his story. "Lisa Cuddy. Could you at least tell me what hospital she was taken to?"

"Sir, I helped pull that woman from the car. She wasn't wearing a ring." House's heart sinks into his stomach. Of course she wasn't. Because he was a coward. Because he never asked. "Sir, I think this is a mix-up," the cop suggests. "And anyways, we're not allowed to give out any information before we have people identified. You will have to call the hospitals and ask if she has been admitted."

At that moment, a stretcher carrying a body that is completely covered under white linen is being pulled from somewhere behind Cuddy's car into House's vision by two paramedics. House feels his knees buckle. He catches a glimpse of dark hair sticking out at the top. The body length fits. He is certain he can make out her profile under the thin sheet. "No, no, no, no, no," he mutters under his breath. This cannot be happening.

He lunges forward. He needs to get to her. He has to fix this. Maybe the paramedics missed something. There must be something he can do; they must be mistaken. His heart is racing, and he is breaking into a sweat.

Both officers block his way, their hands closing around his upper arms.

"This is my wife," House tries again breathlessly, fighting against their grip. "Get the hell off me!" The stretcher is being rolled behind an ambulance and out of his sight. "She needs help! I'm a doctor! She needs my help!"

The officers are obviously beginning to doubt his sanity. "Sir, would you please calm down, or we are going to have to take you into custody."

House is starting to lose it. He frantically tries to free himself, although he knows he stands no chance against them. "Let me go, God damn it! That's my wife!" Anxiety rises up in him. He cannot accept this. His eyes travel to the sky, and he begs to a God he does not believe in to let him wake up, to let this be all but a bad dream. He refuses to exist in a world without Cuddy. He wants a dark hole to swallow him whole. He hears himself desperately gasping for air. He hears himself screaming.

The officers are talking at him now, their sternness giving way for concern, but he cannot make out their words any longer. He is struggling aimlessly against them, wearing himself out. He wants to run out of energy, wants to pass out, wants to have a heart attack and die right here, right now. He thinks of Rachel and John and yelps. He cannot possibly tell them.

'Don't let this happen,' he begs. He needs someone to help him, someone to make this stop. 'Come on, do something! Do something, do something, do something', an echo from the past rings inside him. The moment triggers the last situation in which he has been this desperate and helpless, and Hanna's dead eyes flash up in front of him. He cannot breathe, struggling hard to pump oxygen into his lungs. He is afraid he is losing his mind. He hears Hanna calling him from beyond the grave, pulling him away from this pain. Pulling him away from a reality he is unwilling to face. He hears his name again, this time in the sound of Cuddy's voice. She, too, is calling him. He is about to break down. He sees sparkles in front of his eyes, and then his vision turns black. All sound is gone.

Suddenly, the volume turns back up, as if a switch has been flicked at an audio control system, his sense of hearing retuning with a rush of blood flooding his brain. He hears his name again.

"House!"

He freezes in his movements, his head jerking around towards the voice. He blinks rapidly, not believing his own eyes. It's Cuddy. His Cuddy, standing upright on her feet, walking towards him.

He must be imagining her. He thinks he has lost consciousness and is hallucinating her, his mind conjuring her up for self-preservation. He squints his eyes, trying to adjust his focus. If he were only fantasizing her, he would not be fantasizing her like this, though: She has a deep cut on her brow that has been stitched up, one side of her face is scraped red—the skin burnt from the impact with the airbag—and there are abrasions on her forearms. Other than that, she looks unscathed. She walks slowly and unsteadily, her shoulders slightly hung. She is wearing a white blouse with short sleeves, black pants, and black high heels. Her expression carries a mixture of confusion and worry.

The officers sense the change of the situation, picking up on House's lack of resistance, and loosen their grip on him. He steps away from them and limps towards her as quickly as possible—his cane long lost in all the struggling—closing the last stretch of distance between them.

When he reaches her, he cups her face in both hands, and kisses her hard on the mouth.

He more feels than hears the surprised sound she makes in the back of her throat before she relaxes her lips and kisses him back. He kisses her fiercely, all the desperation and need for her spilling out of him.

Eventually, he has to draw his mouth away from hers, gasping for air. "I was sure you were dead," he pants, staring at her intently.

His legs are shaking and his vision is getting blurry. His body is so pumped with adrenaline he feels no pain in his right thigh. Barely able to keep himself upright, he rests his forehead on her shoulder, trying to get a grip on himself. He cannot believe what just happened. That she is here instead of on that stretcher, the dead body someone else's to grieve over.

He feels her hand cupping the back of his neck, her fingers brushing over his skin and the fine hair at the base of his scull.

He draws himself upright again to look at her. "I love you," he blurts out, almost stumbling over the words. "Cuddy, I love you. I should have told you."

"It's okay," she whispers. Her thumb caresses him behind the ear. "I'm okay." With her fingers applying slight pressure to the back of his head, she pulls him down for another kiss, their lips meeting more gently this time.

House's head is a jumble, still under the grip of his panic. His thoughts are running into a thousand directions and then colliding back into each other. "Are you sure?" he asks, pulling away from her again. He looks her up and down, trying to detect any more signs of trauma.

She nods. "I've got some whiplash; bruised ribs, possibly cracked." She briefly touches her hand to the right side of her torso beneath her breast. "A slight concussion, but otherwise I'm fine. I got really lucky."

He tries to switch into doctor mode. "No dizziness? Nausea?"

She shakes her head.

"You could have some internal bleeding. Wouldn't notice it with all the adrenaline and endorphins masking your pain. We need to get you—" he is forced to take a break, still hardly able to breathe, "—an MRI."

"I'm fine," she reassures him. "EMT checked me. Did a full rib exam. My lungs are also clear." She scans his face, her hand traveling from his neck to rub over his chest. "But you're shaking. Should we maybe find you a place to sit?"

He nods. He feels lightheaded and sick to his stomach.

She searches the ground for his cane until the young officer comes up to them, carrying it. He seems relieved to finally have their attention. House realizes they must have given quite a scene.

"Thank you," Cuddy mutters to the officer, grabbing the cane and passing it onto House. She takes House by the left hand and pulls him along with her in the direction she came from, around a tow truck and over to an ambulance that had been obscured from House's vision. This is where she must have been when she heard him yelling.

A paramedic who is busy bandaging the wrist of an elder lady looks up as they are approaching. "There you are," he addresses Cuddy. "You suddenly disappeared on me."

"Yeah. I heard my, uh," she turns towards House, whose hand she is still holding, obviously at a loss of how to introduce him, "my friend. He got a bit worked up when he couldn't find me. Do you maybe have some water for him?"

"Sure thing. I'll be right with ya." He nods towards the ambulance. The backdoors are open, so House and Cuddy sit down on the rim of the vehicle.

House tries to regain control over his breathing.

The paramedic comes up to them a moment later and hands them two cups filled with water. "Here you go. Got some Ibuprofen for you." He holds up a pill in a small paper cup to Cuddy. "You really gonna feel those ribs once you come off the adrenaline rush."

"Thanks."

"And the police are here to talk to you, if you're up for it," he adds.

Cuddy nods.

They silently drink their water until two police officers arrive. "Lisa Cuddy?" One of them is holding Cuddy's purse and wallet, looking at her driver's license.

"Yes."

"We retrieved this from your car," the officer hands her the purse. The other two items he shoves at his partner, who is carrying a clipboard, to jot down Cuddy's credentials.

"Thank you." Cuddy takes her purse and places it in her lap.

"We're here to take your report on what happened," he explains. Cuddy nods. "Sir, were you also involved in the accident?" he asks House.

House shakes his head, unable to speak.

While the police take Cuddy's statement, House only processes fragments of the conversation. The accident had initiated right behind Cuddy, and had created a chain reaction. A truck next to her had run her off and into the barrier.

He is glad to have some time to rest and regroup himself.

When she is done drinking, he takes the empty cup from her, and interlaces their fingers again. The shock of the events run deep, and it takes him a while before he notices how cold she is. He searches the ambulance for a blanket and hangs it over her shoulders. He resumes his place by her side, staring at the dark asphalt in front of his feet. Eventually, he feels her eyes on him. He tries to resemble the last bit of the conversation. One of the officers has asked about a ride home.

"I'm here with the bike," he says. "I can take you, if you're up for it. Got an extra helmet under the seat."

She considers the option. "Probably faster than calling for an uber or a cab and fight through traffic."

"I'll have you home in five minutes."

"One of our colleagues can drive you, Ma'am," one of the policemen offers.

Cuddy grips House's hand more tightly. "Well be fine."

"Here's the address and contact information of the company that will be towing your vehicle," says the police officer with the clipboard, handing Cuddy back her wallet and license, as well as a business card.

"Can you arrange it to be taken to the auto shop on Washington Road, Princeton Junction?" House asks. He knows the guy who runs it, and trusts him to handle the situation in their interest.

"We'll see what we can do, sir. Gotta clear the road as fast as we can." He turns back to Cuddy, handing her another card. "Call this number to stay informed about the final determination of fault. Also, make sure to contact your insurance company and initiate a claim first thing in the morning."

"Okay, thank you."

The officers walk off.

House feels more stable again and capable enough to take the lead and bring her home safely. He brushes the blanket off her shoulders. "Where's your jacket?"

"Car. Passenger seat."

He helps her onto her feet and puts his jacket on her. She sways slightly. "It's about two hundred yards to the bike," he explains to her, looking her over. "If you collapse halfway there, I won't be able to carry you. Either way."

"I'm fine," she mumbles. House is far from convinced. "I just wanna get home," she pleads with him.

He locks eyes with her. Understanding her need, he decides to give it a shot. He takes her by the hand and pulls her along with him, leading her out of the mess.

When they arrive at the south end of the site, he releases her fingers in order to hold up the tape for them to pass under. He uses the moment to assess her state. She looks pale and tense. Walking seems to be taking her a lot of effort.

"You wanna wait here?" He gestures toward the small strip of grass lining the side of the road. "While I get the bike?"

It is pitch dark by now and he can only make out her face because of the streetlights and the revolving lights from the rescue vehicles behind them. She seems alarmed by the thought, her eyes going wide and swiftly skimming the scene of bystanders and police officers. "No." She shakes her head decidedly and takes his hand again, gripping it firmly.

They walk slowly, him because of his limp, her because of her injuries, but they eventually arrive at the parking lot. He shows her where she needs to put her feet on the motorcycle, and retrieves the second helmet. "If you start feeling faint or sick, knock on my helmet. I won't hear your voice." She nods. "Hold onto me. Go with my movement." He places her purse in the compartment under his seat before he carefully puts the helmet on her, trying to avoid any friction with the cut on her eyebrow. He fishes for his own helmet in the bushes, puts it on, clicks his cane in its holder, and mounts his bike. He offers his hand to her, and helps her climb on behind him.

He feels her upper body settling against his back, her arms circling around his waist. She shifts most of her weight onto the left side of her torso, trying to put the least possible amount of pressure on her sore ribs. He ignites the engine, and slowly makes his way out of the parking lot and onto the street.

He feels confident on his bike and manages to drive steadily. Knowing the streets and each and every corner by heart allows him to avoid sharp turns, hard breaks, and bumps in the road. Nevertheless, he feels a rush of relieve the moment he makes the final turn onto her driveway.

When he takes off her helmet, he sees that all color has drained from her face. Until now, she has managed to hold herself together and keep her shock at bay. The moment they step inside the house, her shaking starts.

House helps her out of her heels and his jacket. "Let's get you into bed," he mutters.

"No," she protests weakly. "I feel disgusting. I want to take a shower."

"Like this?" He stares at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You can barely stand up straight. You'll slip and crack your skull." He drapes his arm around her and walks her towards the bathroom. "Tub?" he suggests. "The heat will be good for the pulled muscles in your neck."

"Okay."

He clears the bathtub from worn clothes, briefly cleans it with the spray, clogs the drain, and adjusts the temperature. After adding some soap, he turns around to her. She has not gotten far in undressing, still fiddling with the buttons on her blouse.

"Here, let me," he offers, brushing her trembling hands away. He swiftly undoes her buttons, reaches around to unhook her bra, opens and unzips her pants, pulling them down and off her ankles. Assuming she can manage the rest and unsure about her maybe wanting her privacy, he starts heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" she calls after him, sounding concerned. He turns on his heels. She looks so small and fragile he swiftly makes his way back to her, his hand traveling to her waist. "I was just gonna make you some tea. To warm you from the inside." He briefly brushes his lips against hers. "I'll be right back. You need help getting in?"

She relaxes a little. "No. I'll use your handle." She gives him a weak smile. "But can you put up my hair?" She grabs a tie from the cabinet and holds it out to him.

House glances at it skeptically, but takes it anyway. "Never done that before in my life."

She turns her back to him. "Just bundle it up and pretend you're putting a rubber band around an unfinished bag of chips."

He feels like a clumsy idiot trying to catch all of her hair and hold onto it while simultaneously attaching the tie, but he manages a version where at least the tie stays put and not too many strands of her hair are still falling onto her shoulders.

"Thanks," she mumbles, and continues to undress.

He heads for the kitchen and turns on the water boiler. He hears the flush of the toilet, and goes to the guest bathroom to take a leak himself. While he waits for the tea to brew, he searches for the heating pad he knows they have. He finds it in the storage room. On an afterthought, he takes a folding chair with him as well.

On his return to the bathroom, Cuddy is in the tub with her eyes closed. She opens them when she hears him enter. He sets the mug down on the edge of the tub, unfolds the chair, and sits down on it, facing her. He hears the splashing of water as she pulls her hand from underneath the surface, holding it out to him. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and takes her wet hand in both of his.

They sit in silence for a long time, simply holding each other's gaze. The moment feels extremely intimate. The walls of the bathroom give an echo, enhancing all sound, yet creating isolation, as if being in a cave. Solely their breaths, occasional drops falling from the faucet, and the swirling of shifting water at every slight movement she makes fill the silence. For an instant, he imagines them being the only two people on the planet.

He has a hard time digesting the events of the night, and is bewildered that she is still here, alive and breathing. He feels infinitely grateful.

She picks up the mug with her free hand and takes a sip from it.

He lets his eyes wander around the room, noticing his handle screwed to the wall running the length of the tub. She had it installed before they moved in, anticipating he would need to take baths here as well in order to alleviate the pain in his leg. His eyes fall on the shower, which is spacey and at an even level with the floor, the tiles simply continuing into the stall. He realizes that the front door also has no steps leading up to it. There are no stairs inside the house, either. Cuddy had insisted on a single-story house. No first floor, no basement. It never dawned on him before that her entire property is handicap accessible. He stares at her, his jaw slightly dropping.

Her eyes are almost closed.

Had she taken into account that, one day, his leg might deteriorate so much he would be dependent on a wheelchair? Had she expected, already back then, that he would be a part of her life for this long, and had taken precautionary measures to ensure that her home would be manageable for him?

His vision is getting blurry, and he feels tears run down his cheeks.

She picks up on his distress and turns her head towards him, opening her eyes. "Hey." She gives his hand a squeeze, looking at him with concern. "I'm here," she whispers gently.

"Yeah," he nods, wiping at his eyes. "Promise me you'll let me die first," he says in all earnest.

She stifles a laugh, the corners of her mouth twitching up. "I promise I'll try."

He lifts off the chair and leans over the edge of the tub to kiss her softly. "Let's get you to bed," he mumbles. "You're falling asleep."

She nods.

He unclogs the drain and grabs a towel from the rack, balancing it on the rim of the tub. With one hand under her armpit and the other pushing up under her elbow, he helps her get to her feet. She winces slightly.

She holds onto the handle while he lunges for the towel and warps it around her. Her left, unharmed side is turned towards him, so he carefully picks her up in his arms and carries her to bed, where he lowers her slowly onto the mattress. She holds her breath and bites down on the inside of her cheek, closing her eyes in pain.

"You want me to help you into your PJs?" he asks.

"No," she shakes her head, cautiously letting out the breath she has been holding. "No more moving."

"Okay." He pulls the covers over her.

"But would you get my phone for me? In case one of the kids tried to reach me."

He nods. He goes to the kitchen to throw the heating pad in the microwave, brings Cuddy her phone, and proceeds on to the bathroom to take a quick shower himself. He has broken into numerous sweats tonight, and is eager to wash away the remnants from his shock.

He dresses in a T-shirt and PJ pants, grabs some more painkillers from the medicine cabinet, retrieves the pad from the microwave, and fetches a bottle of water and a straw. Cuddy is still lying on her back with her phone pressed to her ear when he returns to her bedroom.

"Yeah, I'll probably be able to come in Monday," she says. House walks to her bedside table to set everything down. "No, I'll be available by phone tomorrow." He carefully lifts her head to place the heating pad underneath her neck and shoulders. "Yeah, I will. Okay, thank you. Bye." She hangs up. "ER is piling up with victims from the accident. They could really use a hand."

"Nobody's gonna die because you're not there putting on latex gloves tonight." He opens the bottle and pushes the straw inside.

She shakes her cell phone in the air briefly before placing it next to her on the nightstand. "Eighteen missed calls."

"Wow. You must be a popular girl." He walks around to the other side of the bed.

"Popular with _someone_. Four from work. Four_teen_ from this one guy named House." Her voice is playful. "Works at Princeton Plainsboro. Have you met him?"

"Never heard of him. Sounds a bit clingy, if you ask me." He climbs onto the mattress next to her before stopping in his tracks, suddenly hesitant and second-guessing himself. They have not talked about their status. He wonders whether she even wants him here. "You sure you like this guy?" He squints his eyes at her.

She smirks, patting the pillow next to her. "He's got some self-worth issues," she mumbles cockily as he slides under the covers with her, resting on his side. "But I love him." Her voice is low and warm; her hand reaches up to cup his face. He leans in to kiss her.

He inches closer to her, his hand traveling to her abdomen. She has pushed away the towel, and he caresses the soft skin of her flat belly. She makes a low humming sound in the back of her throat.

He breaks the kiss to look at her. His hand moves to her bruised face, his fingers fleetingly brushing along the rim of her cut brow and over her burnt cheek.

Her hand cradles his jaw. "I heard you yelling," she mumbles, studying his face. "'This is my wife.' What was that about?"

He swallows hard. "There was a dead woman. On a gurney. She had your height. Your hair color." He props up his head on his elbow. "I thought I'd appeal to the cops' sense of sympathy. So they'd let me through to her. To you."

"Hm." Her hand moves from his face to his shoulder and all the way down to his forearm, rubbing it affectionately. After a moment he feels her fingers relax, and her eyelids are starting to droop. She is obviously completely wiped out from the physical and emotional shock she suffered, the painkiller adding to her drowsiness.

He turns off the bedside lamp. "Goodnight Cuddy." His lips brush against her temple as he drapes his arm protectively over her tummy.

"Goodnight husband," she murmurs, before she drifts off to sleep.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Around 4am, Cuddy wakes up with a yelp, gasping for air.

"Cuddy?" House mumbles groggily, fumbling for the light switch.

"Oh God," she whimpers.

He manages to turn on the lamp, and squints his eyes at her. She looks tense, her face distorted in a grimace. "Pain?" he asks, reaching for the pills and the water he had left on the bedside table.

"Yeah." She gladly takes the pill he offers her, and gulps it down with some water. "Thank you."

"Where?" He starts to panic a little, cursing himself for not having insisted on the MRI.

"Everywhere," she presses out through gritted teeth. Closing her eyes, she tries to take some measured breaths as she mindfully wanders through her body. "Ribs, chest, neck, face. My head is throbbing." She briefly touches her forehead. "Ribs are the worst."

"You sure they're just cracked and not broken into pieces?" he asks, moving his hand up to her throat to measure her pulse before checking her chest for any abnormal movement. There is a red, elliptical bruise forming beneath her left collarbone where the seatbelt stopped her upper body from catapulting forward. "Do you feel tightness in your chest?"

"No." She shakes her head. "It just hurts superficially. From the seatbelt."

"No flail chest," he mumbles his diagnosis before pressing his ear against her sternum to listen to her lungs. "Are you having difficulty breathing?"

"I can breathe okay. Inhaling hurts, but only between my sixth and tenth right rib."

"Lungs are fine." He looks at her. "Pain in your stomach or your shoulder?"

"No. House, I'm okay." She closes her eyes.

He pulls down the sheet further to get a visual of her midriff. He detects slight bruising and swelling on the right side of her lower ribcage. "I'll get an ice pack. And a thermometer. Rule out other organ damage... an infection." He covers her up again, grabs his cane, and hurries for the kitchen.

On his return, he places the ice pack wrapped in a towel on her bruised ribs. Then he inserts the probe of the ear thermometer into her ear canal. "99.4," he announces when he glances at the display after the beep. "We'll check again in two hours," he says, setting the alarm before he settles back down beside her.

"Hm." Cuddy still looks uncomfortable and tense. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her eyebrows furrowed.

To distract her from her pain, House gently touches her above the bridge of her nose and lets his fingers travel up, running them back and forth over her forehead.

Her face relaxes under his touch, and he hears her breath deepen a little.

He carefully massages each of her temples, and eventually moves onto her scalp. He combs through her hair, applying gentle pressure with the tips of his fingers.

After a while, she opens her eyes, pulls the ice pack from under the blanket, and sets it aside. On a deep exhale she turns onto her left, moving her body into his.

He lets his hand travel down her neck and onto her back.

"Touch me, House," she whispers.

He tucks his chin to look down at her. He is confused. "Asking someone to do something they're already doing is a wasted request."

She ignores him and slides her hands under his T-shirt, letting them roam over his belly and chest.

He gasps. "Cuddy?"

She tilts her head up and scoots even closer to him, claiming his mouth with hers.

He immediately recognizes this type of kissing from her: She is coming onto him. He cannot help but feel slightly aroused, having every inch of her naked body pressed against his and her tongue sliding in and out of his mouth. His hand briefly moves to the round curve of her ass for a caress. Then he breaks their kiss to study her face, silently asking her what is going on. She cannot possibly be in the mood for sex right now.

Instead of talking to him, she cranes her head to plant light kisses on his neck. One of her legs moves in between both of his, and she rubs her thigh against his crotch.

"Hey, hey, hey," he stops her, pulling away. "I know sex is your number one choice for stress relieve, which I'm generally fond of and in no way complaining about, but I doubt this is a good idea." She stares at him blankly. "You experienced a severe trauma," he reasons with her. "You're emotional, and you're hurt; probably suffering from PTS."

"I'm fine," she insists. "Just be careful."

The pain meds obviously kicked in, but he is not willing to take the risk of adding to her bruises. He touches her face and tries to lighten the mood. "I understand it's hard to resist this piece of 'Yum'," he briefly taps his chest, "now that you have access, but let's take it slow. Give your body at least a couple of days to heal before you go wild on my jock." The last time they were intimate together was on the night of her birthday party. He wants their first time since then to be free from pain and anxiety.

She looks as if she might start to cry at his rejection. "Please stop saying 'No' to me, House," she whispers. "I want to feel you."

He searches her face, not sure exactly what is going on. Why she is pushing so hard to sleep with him right now. "Cuddy, what you need is rest and some time to process everything that happened tonight. What's this about?"

She swallows and bows her head, breaking their eye contact. Her arms cross in front of her, covering her chest. She is withdrawing from him.

"Hey," House interferes, tugging at her chin with two fingers, beckoning her to look at him again.

She has tears in her eyes. "Please love me," she asks him beseechingly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He furrows his eyebrows at her, dumbfounded by her words. "I do," he mumbles, cupping her face and brushing his thumb along her jawline, avoiding the burn on her cheek.

"Show me," she pleads.

He takes several measured breaths while studying her face. His intuition tells him that something is wrong. She seems filled with panic and angst, probably brought on by the accident, but he cannot pinpoint exactly how it connects to him. He wishes she would talk to him, but is not sure she would even be able to articulate her worries at the moment if he tried to push her further.

On the one hand, he is concerned he might increase her trauma if he were to sleep with her, convinced that sex is not what she truly needs. On the other hand, denying her seems to only be adding to her distress.

_(Author warning: Sex coming up. Skip to the end, I'll give you a short – adultery free – recap.)_

He moves in to kiss her, deciding that perhaps she just wants some release, which he can give her in other ways. She accepts none of that, though: When he moves his hand down her belly and onto her left thigh, she catches it and pulls it back up, placing it on her breast. She slips her tongue deep into his mouth. One of her hands moves under his shirt again; the other travels to the waistband of his PJ pants, slipping beneath.

He is far from erect, but her hand knows exactly how to get him there.

When she tugs on his shoulder, asking him to move on top of her, he intently searches her face. "Promise me you'll tell me when I'm hurting you."

"I'm not in pain right now," she brushes off his worries, and rolls slowly onto her back.

He moves his PJ pants down to his thighs and carefully positions himself between her legs, reminding himself to keep his weight off her at all times, particularly from the right side of her torso. Pushing up from the mattress on his right lower arm and elbow, he slides his left hand to her thigh, drawing small circles on the soft flesh there while lowering his mouth to her right breast, gently suckling on her peaked nipple.

She reacts to his touch in the usual way: A quiet moan escapes her lips and he feels her hand brush though the hair on the back of his head, holding him close.

He coaxes her a bit more, kissing his way up her sternum and nibbling on the delicate skin of her neck.

"House," she hisses eagerly, her legs coming up and pressing against his sides.

He positions his lower arms to the left and right of her, and as gently as possible, he enters her. He observes her closely, looking out for any signs of discomfort. Her eyes are closed shut; her lips are slightly parted. He feels her hands caressing his back, one of them travelling up to the nape of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. She tilts up her hips, urging him to move.

He makes love to her tenderly, constantly focusing on keeping a slow pace. His head hovers next to hers. Occasionally, he lets his lips travel over her neck and shoulder. When her breath quickens and turns into soft moans, he kisses her cheek, and presses the side of his face against hers. Suddenly, he feels something wet against his temple.

He stops moving his hips, and looks at her in surprise. Her eyes are filled with tears. "Cuddy?" he asks, aghast.

"I'm fine," she insists breathlessly. "God, House, please don't stop."

He stares at her, shaking his head slightly. This feels so wrong to him.

"I'm just a little overwhelmed," she tries to reassure him. "You're not hurting me. Please, this feels incredible." She presses her pelvis into his.

He pretends to believe her, but aims to quickly bring an end to the situation. Luckily, he knows her body so well it doesn't take him long to guide her over the edge, her orgasm rippling through her in rolling waves after several more thrusts. The contracting of her walls around his shaft brings him so much pleasure he reaches his peak abruptly and unexpectedly, gasping into her neck as he empties himself inside of her.

Afterwards, she huddles close to him, her head tugged under his chin, and promptly falls asleep.

House, on the other hand, lies awake for a long time, wondering what the hell just happened.

_Author notes:_

_Soooo, what do you think? Let me know if I was able to keep you on your toes a little :-D. There was no way I was gonna kill off Cuddy._

_I really hope you like the chapter. When I first came up with the accident, I actually dismissed the idea because I'm not really a fan of pushing character development by an outside event. But then I thought (a) let's face it, House would have told her anyways, (b) what kind of a drama story would this be without any real drama happening, and (c) I liked the parallel to 'Moving On': Instead of being the cause of a car crash, House this time leads Cuddy out of one._

_For those of you skipping the last part: Basically House sleeps with Cuddy, Cuddy starts to cry, and House is left wondering why._

_One more thing: I posted this today (on a Thursday) because the crash happens on a Thursday (in April, to top it off), and there is a "Friday after the accident" chapter, which I will post tomorrow, so stay tuned. _


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43: The Day After**

Friday, the day after the accident, is filled with many phone calls. First thing in the morning, House calls Foreman to inform him about what happened and to take the day off. The rest of the morning and far into the afternoon, House deals with the auto mechanic, the towing company, and Cuddy's insurance company, making sure that each party has all the necessary information. He tells his friend at the auto repair shop to retrieve and store all of Cuddy's personal items from her totaled car, and to file the obligatory report about the total loss of the car.

Gaining information from the insurance company requires much patience, which is not exactly one of House's strengths. He is caught up in countless waiting lines, and when he finally ends up with an insurance clerk on the line, House considers most of them so utterly incompetent and uninformative he fails to bite his tongue, which only catapults him back into having to listen to mind-boggling music.

Cuddy takes the more immanent work calls, but mostly rests on the couch. She is in constant pain, mainly because of her ribs, but refuses to take any more pills, claiming that they upset her stomach. She shows none of the peculiar behavior from last night, so House refrains from bringing it back up, attributing it to the shock from the accident.

Throughout the day, he supplies her with food and beverages, and regularly replaces the heating pad under her neck and the ice pack on her ribs. Hourly, he reminds her to take at least ten deep breaths in order to avoid congestion of her lungs, and makes sure she changes her resting position frequently. He helps her up and settle back down on the couch whenever she needs to go to the bathroom or take small walks inside the house, which are important for the healing process of her ribs.

When House asks Cuddy about whether they should inform the kids about what happened, she brushes him off. "I don't want to ruin John's vacation. He'll feel like he needs to cut it short and come home."

"What about Rache?"

"If John finds out we told Rache several days before him, he'll be upset," she argues. "Let's wait 'til Sunday, when John gets back."

At the end of the day, House is tired from the bureaucratic aftermath of the accident, but also proud to have managed settling it all. He even organized her a rental car so she will be mobile next week and as long as it takes for her to purchase a new car.

She, too, is completely worn out, and he helps her settle into bed around 8pm. He sits down to her left on the other side of the bed, wondering if she cares for his company. "You want me to read something to you?" he offers. "I could come up with my own story, too. Might actually turn out more interesting."

Cuddy is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She shakes her head.

He observes her, unsure about what to do and how to help her. After a moment, he sees a tear escaping the corner of her left eye and run down her temple.

"That bad?" he asks. "You sure you don't want to try with a pain killer again, just so you can sleep? Or I could run to the hospital, get you something liquid."

She shakes her head again. "It's not that," she whispers.

He squints his eyes at her, settling down under the blankets, lying on his side to face her. "What is it?"

Cuddy continues staring at the ceiling. "Let's get this over with, House. Go ahead and say it already."

He has no clue what she is talking about, and looks at her quizzically.

"Stop trying to spare me. Stop dragging this out. Just tell me, I can take it." Her voice is shaking, and she looks miles away from being able to take anything at the moment. It seems more as if she might start falling apart any second.

"Tell you what?" he asks gently.

She sniffs her nose. "That you've changed your mind. About this. About us."

His jaw drops an inch. "What?" He is speechless for a moment. He cannot believe what he is hearing, and wonders how she could possibly assume such a thing.

"Come Monday, the shock will have subsided, and you'll want to go back to the way things were," she says matter-of-factly while tears keep silently rolling down the side of her face.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He has no idea where her doubt originates from, and has not seen any signs of her fear throughout the day. She had been tense and tight-lipped, but he had attributed it entirely to her pain.

"You're already pulling back," she whispers.

He furrows his eyebrows, frowning at her. "You've definitely had too much time to ruminate today, go down all the dark and gloomy alleys," he tries to eradicate her concerns. "I thought that was more my department."

His words fail to reach her. She swallows hard. "You hardly touched me—"

"I took care of you all day," he objects.

"—above what was necessary. You didn't kiss me once, and you didn't say—" she stops herself, considering her words. "Well, _it_."

He lets the day replay in his mind, searching for moments in which he could or should have showed her more affection. He has been preoccupied and busy, and their interactions had been rather functional than romantic.

She shakes her head again, an expression of embarrassment crossing her face. "God, I practically begged you to sleep with me last night." She covers her eyes with one hand. "Scratch the 'practically'. I _begged_."

"Is this what that was about?" House asks, completely stunned. When she woke up last night, she must have already begun to worry that their intimacy was only temporary; that she would lose him again. House is shocked she has been getting worked up about this all day without him noticing. On top of that, he had obviously even nourished her fears, if only unconsciously.

Ignoring his question, she states: "Almost dying changes nothing. That's _your_ saying." For the first time since she lay down, she glances at him briefly. "Why would that be any different for you?"

He opens his mouth, unsure about how to best alleviate her concerns. "Cuddy, I haven't changed my mind. And I'm not going to."

She shakes her head, giving no credit to his words. "This didn't make any sense in the first place," she mumbles, her voice barely audible. Her whole body is trembling. "I'm in a car accident and all of a sudden you trust me?"

House realizes the seriousness of her doubts. She seems absolutely convinced about the validity of her fears. For the first time, the scope of the damage he caused by rejecting her for so long dawns on him. Until now, he has hardly been aware of the pain he must have inflicted upon her by having pushed her away all this time.

He takes a moment to order his thoughts. He scoots closer to her, but refrains from touching her just yet. She seems too tense and too far out of reach. Hoping to find the right words that will give her the reassurance she needs, he props up his head on his elbow, and takes a deep breath. "Cuddy…" he starts, searching her face. "This was never about trust, not really." His voice is calm and quiet. "I wanted to control something that was actually completely out of my hands. My reasoning was that I can't lose something I don't already have."

She turns her head a couple of degrees in his direction.

"I was trying to protect myself from loss. I thought that since I'm not in a relationship with you, no one can ever take that away from me." He rubs his forehead. "Last night, when I stood there, in that chaos, and I saw your wrecked car and that woman on the stretcher… I recognized that it wouldn't have made anything any easier. Or any less painful. On the contrary, even. At that moment, all I wanted was to get to you. So badly. I thought of all the things I wanted to do but wouldn't be able to anymore: hold you close, kiss you, touch you… And I realized I wasn't doing any of those things even when I had the chance."

She is looking at him now, her body and her heart opening up to his words.

"I was an idiot, Cuddy," he mumbles. He carefully places his hand on her lower belly, trying to soothe her with his touch. "I was acting like you were already dead. Or more like a part of you was. At least dead to me."

She draws in a sharp breath as more tears spill from her eyes.

"When I was on my bike, on my way to the scene, I thought, over and over again, how, for months now, you told me _every day_ that you loved me." He shakes his head, feeling foolish. "And I hadn't managed to even tell you once."

Her lower lip starts to quiver, and she draws it in.

He sees so much pain in her face he can barely hold her gaze. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head meekly. "It's okay," she presses out. "These are happy tears now." She waves her hand in front of her face, and the corners of her mouth turn up briefly. Her breath quivers, and she rolls onto her side to press her face against his chest. "I'm so relieved," she mutters, the cotton of his T-shirt muffling her voice. She clings to him, her fingers grabbing a hold of his shoulders. He warps his arm around her as she silently continues to cry.

He lets his hand travel over her shoulder blades, and feels the tension drain from her body. Guilt about having caused her so much grief washes over him. "I'm sorry I kept you at arm's length all this time," he mumbles into the crown of her head, nuzzling her soft hair.

"It's okay," she says again, her patience and understanding for him seemingly endless. "I know you were scared." She pulls back her head in order to look up at him.

"I still am," he admits.

"That's kinda part of the package. Of loving someone." She sniffles her nose. "I worry every day. About the kid's safety. About yours." She reaches up to cup his jaw.

"I love you, Cuddy," he assures her, looking her firmly in the eyes. "So much," he whispers. "You're the love of my life. And I'm never taking that back again."

Her hand travels to the nape of his neck, and she pulls him down to meet her lips with his.

They make out for a few minutes, mindfully and gently, before she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her nose in his shirt. "Don't pull away from me again," she murmurs.

"What if I need to pee?"

She stifles a laugh, humming softly.

He turns off the light, kisses her hair, and holds her close.

She places a kiss on his neck. "I love you," she mumbles, and falls asleep in his arms.

_Author note:_

_Again, hope you liked the chapter :), thanks for the sweet reviews on the last one._

_Since we are indeed nearing the finale, I have a TPL marathon for you this weekend: There will be a "Saturday -" and a "Sunday after the accident" chapter. So stay tuned and enjoy ;-)_


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44: Saturday After**

They have a restless second night after the accident. Cuddy wakes up frequently, the pain in her ribs pulling her from sleep, and House tries to help alleviate it as much as possible. They shift their positions often, trying to determine the most comfortable ways for her to rest. Oddly enough, she finds peace nestled up against his flank with him lying on his back. The soft pressure of his torso against her bruised ribs provides a slight confinement for them, preventing some of the movement and thus the ache each inhale brings with it. With her cheek resting on his shoulder, she finally drifts off into a deep sleep around 5am.

When House wakes up the next morning, golden rays of sunshine break through the curtains of her bedroom. Cuddy is still snuggled up against him, one leg possessively draped over his. He feels her warm hand on his belly, which has found its way under his shirt during the night. Judging by the sound of her even breath, she is fast asleep.

He lies with her for a couple more minutes, enjoying the heat of her slender body, until he can no longer ignore the pressure in his bladder, and carefully moves out from under her. He goes to the bathroom to pee and brush his teeth, makes himself a cup of tea, and takes the book resting on his nightstand in the guest bedroom before he settles back in bed beside her. Unlike the previous morning, he intends on being present when she wakes up, determined not to repeat yesterday's shortcomings.

After about an hour, he feels her stirring next to him on the mattress. He lets the book sink down to his lap and looks at her, observing her face as it comes alive. At first he detects the crease forming between her eyebrows as she puffs out some air. Then her eyes open a crack, blinking softly. When she spots his legs, she slowly tilts her head up and adjusts her focus on him.

"Hey," he mumbles tentatively.

Her lips form into a smile. "Hi."

He sets his book and his reading glasses aside and scoots closer to her, settling down on his side to face her. "Good morning sunshine," he singsongs in a low voice as he drapes his arm around her waist and gently brushes his lips against hers. "I love you," he mumbles against her lips.

To his surprise she pulls her head back a bit, cringing at his words. She covers her eyes with one hand, seemingly embarrassed. "I'm sorry I freaked out a little last night," she states weakly. She rarely displays her fears as openly as she did yesterday, and appears to be ashamed about the extremity of her feelings, and of him being a witness to them. "You don't have to tell me every day," she mutters, slowly tilting her head up. Her eyes come into his view again as her hand travels to his neck. "I know it's not really your thing."

He wishes she wouldn't feel the need to hide from him, but decides to play the moment lightly. "Freaked out _a little_?" he mocks her affectionately. "That was a full blown panic."

She ignores his tease. "I wouldn't mind hearing it every once in a while," she elaborates.

He plants kisses on her nose and her forehead. "You were worried." Tracing his lips over her temple and down her cheek, he murmurs: "That you wouldn't be getting another piece of this fine ash."

"Just tell me when you feel it, okay?"

He buries his face in her neck and kisses his way to her ear. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he purrs, gently nibbling at her earlobe.

She starts to giggle, which is promptly followed by a yelp. "Ouch, shit," she hisses through gritted teeth, her hand traveling to her sore ribcage.

He looks at her sympathetically, rubbing her back.

Deep creases have formed on her forehead. "No more jokes," she states, exhaling carefully.

"Not possible. This is gonna take weeks to heal. I cannot contain my inner clown for that long."

"Hm." She settles her hand on his chest, trying to breathe normally again. "Start a joke diary. Write down your most hilarious ones. You can read it to me six weeks from now: 'Remember when you said this, I was going to say…'."

He feels her warm fingers brush over his collarbone and his shoulder. "Or maybe I _should_ break up with you again," he quips. "That'll definitely kill the laughter."

She gives him a look of disgruntlement, not taking him seriously, though. He is glad to have managed erasing her doubts about his sincerity of being in a relationship with her. "I don't think uncontrollable, desperate sobbing would facilitate my healing process, either."

"Desperate sobbing, huh?" he asks her earnestly, continuing to stroke her back. He is willing to hear more about what the past years were like for her, in case she wants to share more of her pain with him.

"Yeah." She focuses her eyes on his chest and swallows hard. "It was difficult," she admits, her voice sounding raw. "I wanted to be with you. I wanted you to be with me. So much."

He tugs a strand of hair behind her ear, which gets her to look at him. "I _was_ with you. All the time." He taps at his head. "Here." He taps at his chest. "Here." He slightly lifts the blanket and looks down between them. "Down there," he smirks.

A corner of her mouth turns up slightly. "I know," she whispers. "I just wanted you to touch me so badly."

"I'll make it up to you," he promises suggestively, and lets his hand travel under her shirt to caress the soft skin on her lower back. "No laughing; no crying," he mumbles cockily, his fingers dancing over her spine, "how do you think your ribs will feel about some uncontrollable moaning?"

She grins at him. "They'd be willing to take the risk. I think they don't mind being distracted a little."

_(Author warning: Okay, playtime coming up. If you don't like reading sexual content, you need to stop the chapter here – not much else happens, really X-D)_

House smirks. He moves his hand over her hip to her belly, spanning the width of her taut abdomen. He feels her muscles flex under his touch as she takes in a quivering breath. He lazily circles her belly button with his index a few times. Then his fingers flutter across her bruised ribs and continue their journey upward, his thumb finding the lower curve of her right breast, tracing it softly. He feels a slight tremble running through her, and travels up further until his hand closes around her breast, kneading it gently.

She closes her eyes and rolls slowly onto her back.

He observes her carefully as he plays with her perked nipple, watching her reactions. Eventually he moves the tips of his fingers to the valley between her breasts and slides them down the centerline of her torso all the way to the waistband of her pajama shorts. She opens her legs to him, but he takes his time to caress her thighs first. The soft skin he finds there never ceases to mesmerize him. Also, he enjoys teasing her a little, her body starting to squirm under his touch.

He smiles when he sees her become frustrated, the crease between her eyebrows deepening. "House," she breathes, conveying her desire for him in this one word.

"Tell me what you want," he grumbles in a low and deep voice.

"Touch me," she blurts out without hesitation.

He smirks again and grants her wish as his hand wanders inside her PJ bottoms, his index and middle finger sliding up and down the length of the silky wetness between her folds.

"Hm," she hums, the sound emanating from deep within her.

House adores watching her reactions to his touch: The way she bites down on her lower lip as his thumb circles her clit, the way she grips the blanket and parts her lips when he enters her with his middle finger, the way she starts to pant when he rubs her g-spot.

Upon detecting the spiked nipple on her right breast through her shirt, he lowers his mouth to it, flicking it with his tongue.

"Oh God," she gasps, her back arching slightly, pressing her chest more firmly against his mouth. He feels another shiver running through her. With the limited mobility she has, she grinds her hips against his finger, her whole body coming alive under his touch.

Through the cotton of her shirt he catches her nipple between his teeth, which elicits a low moan from her. After tugging at it a few times, he suckles on her breast, his saliva wetting her shirt. The thought that John was nourished in this way briefly crosses his mind, demanding him to look up at her. Sometimes it still strikes him that she is the mother of his child, a child that was created in a moment where the love between them was flowing freely, their bodies readily expressing their desire and need for each other. He studies the contours of her elegant face as he adds his index to his middle finger, continuing to slide in and out of her.

Her breath hitches, and her eyes fly open. The second she meets his waiting gaze he feels her inner walls contracting around his fingers, a loud moan escaping her throat as she climaxes, her eyes fluttering shut again.

He continues stroking her, guiding her through the waves of her orgasm, but sits up in bed swiftly to press her hip down with his other hand in order to stop her from buckling too hard and maybe hurting her ribs more.

When she has returned to earth and her breathing slows down, he removes his hand from between her thighs and lies back next to her. "That was fun," he smirks, kissing the crown of her head.

"It was," she agrees with sparkling eyes, smiling up at him.

"I'm gonna go take a shower and have some fun myself. All the while thinking of you, just so you know."

"Care for some company?" she asks with a mischievous grin on her face.

"You wanna give me _a hand_?" He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

"Actually, I thought you could give _me_ one. Help me undress, soap me up, dry me off…"

"You had me at 'undress'," he quips, sitting up and pushing down the blanket. He grabs his cane and walks over to her side of the bed to help her get to her feet. He takes her hand and leads her into the bathroom.

They shower together, and he cannot remember it ever being such a blissful experience. She gives him the best hand-job he has had in years, which is probably due to the fact that it is _her_ hand stroking him, the soft curves of her breast pressing against his torso adding to his pleasure. After he lets his hands roam all over her, making sure to fulfill his task of washing her properly, he shampoos his hair and stands under the hot spray while shampooing hers, gently massaging her scalp. When he is done, he pulls her against him and runs his fingers through her wet curls, rinsing out the soap. She wraps her arms around his waist and closes her eyes, her chin resting against his sternum.

After he finishes washing her hair, he bends down to kiss her, and lets his hands travel down the length of her back and onto the soft curves of her ass, holding her close. He feels her smile against his lips.

When they break the kiss, she presses her cheek against his chest, and his chin comes to rest on the crown of her head. With their bodies molded against each other, they stand under the showerhead and let the warm water wash over them for a long time.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45: Sunday After**

They spend the rest of the weekend mostly in bed and on the couch. House makes sure Cuddy undertakes every feasible action that can help speed up her recovery. They occasionally take slow walks around the block, and he feeds her a protein and calcium rich diet.

Sunday after lunch, House takes an uber to collect Cuddy's rental car, goes grocery shopping, drops by the auto repair shop to fetch the remaining personal items from her wrecked car, and drives to the station at Princeton Junction to pick up John.

House and Cuddy decided that Cuddy would call Rachel while House informs John on their way home. When House sees the train approaching he sends Cuddy a text, and steps out of the car to walk up to the tracks.

John exits the train about twenty feet away from House, surrounded by his three best buddies. They are carrying their duffle bags over their shoulders, chatting and smiling, looking around for their parents. When John sees House, he holds his hand up in a wave, says goodbye to his friends, and walks up to him. "Hey Dad," he smiles, giving House a hug. "Thanks for picking me up."

"You're welcome."

"How did you get mom to stay home and not make a scene? Didn't she miss me?" John inquires.

Cuddy is usually eager to welcome the kids back from trips, and House understands his irritation. He starts heading towards the parking lot, coming up with a way to deflect his son for a couple of more moments. "I was out anyways. Running a few errands." He pats John on the back. "Glad you're back."

John smiles a little, but House detects a hint of disappointment.

"Admit it, you miss your mom's euphoria," House probes. "You like her making a fuss."

John grins knowingly. "You're the one to talk. I saw your face when you got back from that medical conference and mom was all over you."

"She was not!"

John chuckles. When he catches sight of the car House is approaching, he asks: "Whose car is this?"

House opens the back door. "Your mom's new rental," he says calmly, and takes John's bag from him, throwing it on the back seat.

"Did her car break down again?" John makes his way to the passenger side of the car.

"Nope." They both get in. After their doors are pulled shut, House faces John and tries to sound casual. "It got totaled. Your mom was in an accident."

John's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes wide with shock.

"She's fine," House adds quickly. "She's at home resting."

"What happened?"

House starts the car and tells John everything about the accident and Cuddy's injuries on the ride home.

When they arrive and House parks the car in the driveway, John quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and is about to rush out, but House stops him. "There's one more thing," he says hesitantly, turning off the engine.

"More bad news?" John looks at him with a worried expression.

"No," House objects quickly. "At least I hope you don't think so."

John frowns, waiting for House to elaborate. "What is it?"

House takes a deep breath, growing slightly nervous regarding John's reaction. "Your mom and I…" House pauses, searching for words. "We, uh…" He scratches his forehead.

"Dad!"

House looks at John, holding his gaze. "We've decided to give it another shot. You know, relationship-wise."

John's eyes widen before his whole face lights up in a bright smile. "Really?" he beams at him.

House nods, relaxing. "Really." He exhales deeply, returning John's smile.

"Oh man!" John exclaims, pushing out of his seat and throwing his arms around House's neck. "And just when I started thinking my dad was a total wuss," he teases.

House chuckles. "So, you think it's a good thing?" he wants to make sure.

"Are you kidding?" John pulls back, looking amused; his eyes are shining. "Every child wants their parents to be together. In a happy relationship."

House shrugs. "We were pretty happy?!"

"This is better." John grins. "I gotta go see mom." He is already out the door and standing on the porch rummaging for his key by the time House steps out of the vehicle.

"Hey champ?" he calls after John. John turns around to him, his hand hovering on the door handle. "Be careful with her," House reminds him. "No bear hug."

"Wow. Already taking on the role of her big protector…" John winks. "I will."

House retrieves several bags of groceries from the trunk before he slowly limps inside. He spots Cuddy and John in the living room standing close in a half embrace, each of them resting one hand on the other's back.

"I'm fine," Cuddy is in the middle of informing John. "My face looks worse than it feels, my ribs feel worse than they look." When she sees House approaching, she smiles at him almost sheepishly. "Hi."

"Hey," he smiles back. He places the bags on the coffee table and walks up to them, taking up the empty space in front of them and thus closing the gap, fulfilling the circle. House keeps his eyes on Cuddy. "What did Rache say?"

"She was shrieking," Cuddy grins at him. "I think she was bouncing up and down. She definitely dropped her phone at one point." She places her hand on top of House's right hand, which is resting on his cane. House puts his left arm around John.

For a while they just stand there and smile at each other.

"I'm so happy four you both," John says.

Cuddy plants a kiss on House's shoulder and one on John's head near his ear. "I've missed you," she tells him. "How about the two of you join me on the couch and you give us the details of your Spring break shenanigans?"

"Okay," John nods. "I'll get my bag from the car, make a pit stop to the bathroom, and meet you here in five."

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

They spend the rest of the afternoon chatting on the couch until House prepares dinner, John does a load of laundry, and Cuddy goes through the items that were retrieved from her car.

After dinner, Cuddy nods off on the couch. John asks House to give him a ride to his girlfriend, who he is dying to see. They leave a note for Cuddy on the coffee table.

Cuddy wakes up the moment House enters back into the living room.

"Where've you been?" she asks groggily, wiping her eyes. She is lying on her back, propped up on several pillows.

"Dropped John off at Lily's," he says, making his way over to her.

"Sunday night?" she frowns at him.

"He didn't see her for a whole week, he missed her."

"They have school tomorrow."

"Don't worry, his bag is already packed, and I'm picking him up at twelve."

Cuddy's eyes widen.

House smiles internally while keeping his poker face. "Relax. Eleven." He lifts the blanket covering her and lies down beside her.

Judging by the wrinkles on her forehead she is still unpleased.

"Fine, ten thirty. He'll be in bed by eleven." She seems satisfied, but remains slightly disgruntled. He lies on his side and grabs for a pillow, placing it under his head. "Take a breath, babe."

She narrows her eyes at him.

"I meant it literally," he elaborates in his smart-ass fashion, planting his palm on the soft cotton of her shirt above her sore ribs.

She takes in a deep breath, furrowing her eyebrows in pain. "I don't understand why that was even necessary. They're seeing each other at school tomorrow."

"I doubt groping is allowed in school hallways, even nowadays. If so, I'm going back."

"Groping… You think that's all they're doing?"

He brushes his fingers over her midriff, reminding her to keep inhaling deeply. "I got it covered. Slipped him two condoms."

Cuddy draws in a sharp breath that is followed by a small wince. She stares at House. "Are they sleeping with each other?"

He shrugs. "I wasn't _that_ indiscrete." He smiles. He enjoys meddling with her and her overprotectiveness. "They've been dating for a couple months now, they're fifteen, and they seem to be pretty into each other." He feels the fall of her ribcage as she exhales slowly. "So, I'm assuming they're gonna wanna be _into_ each other." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Cuddy draws in her lower lip briefly. "Don't you think it's too soon?"

He pretends to be pondering something, squinting his eyes. "Wait, how old were you again when you decided that marriage was way too far down the hall?"

She gives him a brief glance that tells him she got his point, and takes in another deep breath.

He still detects a hint of concern in her eyes. "Why is it that parents always think their kids should wait longer than them?"

She exhales slowly, pressing her lips together. "Fine, you're right. But did you talk to him about, you know, everything he should be cautious of? Pre-ejaculate, STDs, correct condom use?" He looks at her with amusement. "And also, what the first time will probably be like for _Lily_? That there might be bleeding?"

"Gosh, I really wish you had been in the car with us," House smirks. "Just to see John's face when you use the word 'pre-ejaculate'."

Cuddy gives him an annoyed look.

"Would you relax?" He pulls his hand from her ribs to run his index finger over her nose and up to the crease between her eyebrows. "He's fifteen! He knows more about sex than you wanna know."

She closes her eyes and takes another deep breath, relaxing under his touch.

He kisses her temple. "He'll be fine. He's a smart kid."

She rolls onto her side, planting her palms on his chest. "Why are you running around carrying condoms, by the way?"

He is both startled and entertained by her question. He believes to have detected a hint of jealousy in her voice. "You know me, I like to be prepared."

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"For the kids," he adds, smiling at her. He traces his thumb over her lips. "For moments exactly like that. _You_ provide them with nourishment; _I_ provide them with protection. We make a great team."

One corner of her mouth lifts slightly, and he tilts his head to brush his lips against hers.

"Hm," she hums contentedly, her smile widening.

"What do you say we get you into bed? You have an early and long day ahead of you."

She nods, her hand caressing his cheek. "Yeah."

He assists her in getting up and helps her change in the bedroom, and texts with Rachel while Cuddy brushes her teeth and gets ready for bed in the bathroom.

When she settles down on the mattress, she asks him to join her, so he takes off his jeans and crawls under the sheets with her.

He slides his hand under her shirt and caresses her abdomen, his fingers tracing over the fine stretch marks he feels to the side of her belly.

"Do you mind them?" she asks after while.

He stares at her in bewilderment. "Are you seriously asking me that?"

Her expression is stern and unwavering.

"The woman who, in the past, repeatedly told me to stop bitching about my leg?"

She briefly draws in her lower lip. "Doesn't mean I'm without body shame," she says quietly.

He cocks his head, and the corners of his mouth lift up. "Of course I don't mind them." Pulling himself onto his knees, he pushes the blankets down to her waist, and glides his index fingers under the hem of her shirt to the left and right of her, uncovering her flat stomach. For a moment he lets his eyes observe her navel, her white, immaculate skin, and the few even whiter, thin lines of scarred tissue on either side of her lower abdomen. "Proof of John," he mutters as he touches his thumb to one of the lines.

He feels her twitch slightly under his touch as she takes in a quivering breath. He loves her reactions to him; the high level of electricity that flows between them in their intimacy.

He follows the line with his thumb, and then moves onto the next one, tracing it with his index finger. When he reaches the end of the line, he bends his head down and touches his lips to her skin, his mouth following the path of his fingers.

Cuddy gasps.

He continues in this way, lightly brushing his lips over the lines further towards her belly button, and eventually leaves the trails of her marks to circle her navel with his tongue. Traveling downward, he plants open-mouthed kisses along the waistband of her pants.

Her breath has become shallow, and he lifts his head to look at her with a smirk on his face.

She smiles at him.

"Got you all wet," he says mischievously, using his thumb to trace over the saliva he left on her lower belly.

"You did," she replies playfully.

He grins at her. Tugging his index fingers under the waistband of her pants, he waits for her to lift her hips before he pulls them down and off.

She parts her legs, and he crouches in between them, his hands traveling over her toned thighs.

Going down on her feels to him like picking back up an instrument he has not played in a while. He quickly remembers which stings he needs to bow to elicit specific sounds from her, and has her panting his name in alteration with God's in less than two minutes.

"God, you're easy," he quips, planting his forearms to the left and right of her torso, and resting his cheek against her naked belly. He feels her tummy rise and fall as her breath returns to normal, and listens to the gurgling of her digestive tract.

She rakes her fingers through his hair. "I'm starved."

"No kidding," he chuckles. "Now who's glad I drove John to his girlfriend? Even your fist in your mouth wouldn't have been able to muffle those screams."

"I was not screaming!" she objects.

"Tell that to the neighbor's dog who started barking and scratching at the back door although he's got arthritis and is half deaf."

"Well, it's all your fault. You really paid attention in med school when it came to anatomy of the female body parts."

He lifts his head to look up at her. "I didn't learn _that_ in med school. Maybe _during_ med school. _In_ some girls' dormitories. _In_ some girls'—"

"Like mine?" she interrupts him, cocking an eyebrow.

He gets on his hands and knees, crawling up her body. "You weren't practice material," he says with a smirk.

"Then what was I?" Her tone is both challenging and apprehensive.

"Someone I wanted to make an impression with. Leave an imprint on." His face hovers inches above hers. "Make sure Lisa Cuddy wouldn't forget Big Greg. Or Little Greg," he grins, "with 'Big Greg' in this case being—"

"Shut up," she puffs out, pulling him by the nape of his neck and kissing him firmly on the mouth. The passion she holds for him floods through him: The way she clutches at his neck, her tongue hot and probing against his lips, eager to meet his; the way she tries to reach more of his body, her spine arching up.

He lowers himself to his forearms until he feels her soft breasts connect with his chest and lets his tongue slide against hers.

"You definitely succeeded," she whispers when they finally part to catch their breaths.

"You know, when I set my mind to something…" he says smartly, and catches her bottom lip with his teeth, gently tugging on it.

"I meant you succeeded in leaving an imprint," she teases before she returns the move. "I had a hickey for days."

"Is that so?" he asks playfully, and moves his lips to the crook of her neck, latching onto the soft flesh there.

"House," she protests. "I'm going to be back at the hospital tomorrow."

"So?" he mumbles in between suckling her skin. "The prudes amongst your employees will assume it had something to do with the accident, the rest will be happy to see you're finally getting some again, hoping you'll be less of a pain in the ass in the weeks to come."

She moves her hand between his mouth and her neck and pushes his face away. "You keep up with your smart-ass comments and we'll see who'll be getting _none_ in the weeks to come," she quips, but he detects the sparkle in her eyes.

"Empty threats," he retorts, pressing his lips against hers once more. He turns his head to look at the clock on the nightstand. "Saved by the bell: Gotta go," he says, moving off her. "You think I should brush and floss before I head out?"

Cuddy chuckles.

House puts her cotton shorts back on her before he scrambles from bed and picks up his jeans. "Definitely gotta find a way to fit my pack into my pants again," he adds as he heads to the bathroom.

Before he leaves he sticks his head into the bedroom again.

"Kiss me good-night?" Cuddy requests gently.

"I thought sleeping beauties were supposed to be kissed awake, not to sleep," he mumbles as he limps his way to her side of the bed.

"You can kiss me awake, too."

"You know, I _will_ tell John I'm late because his mother kept asking for sexual favors," he banters, and bends forward to meet her lips. When he draws back, he sits down on the edge of the bed. "You sure you're up for going back to work tomorrow?" he asks, searching her face. She still looks worn out and exhausted.

She takes his hand. "I'll take it easy. Sit at my desk or in my armchair most of the time. I'll avoid moving around much."

"What do you say I drive you?" he suggests.

Cuddy grins at him.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Look at you worrying about me." She sounds touched. "It's sweet."

"I'm not worrying about you," he denies. "I'm controlling you. This way I call the shots on when I pick you up and take you home with me. Make sure you won't overdo it."

Her grin expands. "Because you're worried about me."

"To make sure you have some energy left for me when we get home," he replies with a leer. "I was thinking doggy-style. No pressure on your ribs."

Cuddy chuckles. "I'd appreciate it, actually." House wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "I meant you driving me," she clarifies. "I was getting a little nervous about, you know, getting in the car tomorrow."

"I make a great diver. I'll be your Leister. Or Niles." He straightens his back and lengthens his neck, pretending to be holding a wheel in his hand. "I need one of those caps." He pulls on an imaginary driving cap. "Wait, Niles was the butler, right?"

She smiles again. "I love you."

He smiles back at her and leans down once again to brush his lips against hers. "Dream of me," he whispers.

She squeezes his hand. "Be careful. Drive safe."

"Worried about me?" he repeats the word back to her.

"Nah," she counters. "Just John. But since you'll be the one behind the wheel…"

He gives her a fake pout, and straightens up. "Just wait till I get back," he growls.

She grins at him, and his face softens into a smirk before he leaves.

_Author note:_

_So this was "the weekend after House and Cuddy got back together" marathon. I wanted to show how they interact with each other afterward, and hope you like it. There's no "Monday after the accident" chapter, so don't wait up ;-)_


	46. Chapter 46

_Hey everyone, hope you're all holding up okay. The story is not over yet (not sure why some of you had the impression – last chapter definitely wasn't finale material ;-D). Trust me, I will let you know for sure when it's done. _

_This chapter is also not the last chapter. It's actually another unplanned chapter I wrote this week. Some ideas for it were playing on my mind for a while, but I didn't think it had enough substance. I guess it still doesn't, but I kinda found a liking to writing House and Cuddy in a relationship, talking about some more meaningful things than toothbrushes, hookers, and the trash. If you're not into H/C sharing about their day, I guess you can skip this chapter and wait for the next one, which will have a bit more of an edge to it again._

_Also, I added some more dialogue to the last chapter. It was prompted by a guest review, so thanks for that. It's not that important, but you might wanna check it out (if you read the chapter before Wednesday, which is when I did the update). (The new part is pretty far down in the chapter, after House went down on Cuddy.)_

**Chapter 46: A Dance**

They have been back as a couple for a little over two months, and things are going amazingly well. There is much less anxiety involved this time around, and they have mostly managed to maintain the dynamic they shared before the car accident.

It is a warm Friday summer night. John is out practicing with his band. House is sprawled on the couch, enjoying a cold coke and some chips, watching Netflix while waiting for Cuddy to return from work. He had solved his case a little after 3pm and had gone home early.

When she enters, he can tell by the tense set of her jaw that something is up. "Hey," she greets him. The small smile on her lips lets him know he is not the source of her distress.

"What's wrong?"

She sets down her purse and shrugs out of her light blazer. "Nothing. Just a bad day at work." Whenever she arrives upset at home, the first thing she does is seek some solitude to sort out her feelings, determined to leave work behind her and enjoy the rest of the evening with him. Today seems to be no different. She brushes past him towards the hallway, intent to lick her wounds while taking off her make-up and changing into more comfortable clothes.

He is surprised when he hears her footfalls down the hallway only 30 seconds later, making their way back to the living room. Her stockings have disappeared, but she is still wearing her black pencil skirt and a rosé colored V-neck top when she approaches him purposefully.

Wordlessly, her tiny hands wrap around his wrists to unfold his arms, and she crawls onto the couch and into his embrace.

"Hey," he mumbles with a question in his voice as he tries to catch her eyes, but her head is located one level below his, the top of her hair tickling his chin. She scurries closer to him and presses her nose against his chest, taking a deep inhale of his scent. "_Really_ bad day, huh?" he asks as he begins to rub her back. She nods. "And I'm not even on your staff anymore."

She makes an indistinguishable sound, something between a stifled laugh and a sob, and tries to inch even nearer to him.

He holds her tight, feeling her unease and anguish in the tightness of her shoulders and her uneven exhales against his shirt. He could basically continue watching his show while holding her, her head not obscuring his vision, but he pauses it and switches the channel to a downbeat radio station, hoping the music will help her unwind a little.

Unsure of what exact part of her body conveys the information, but at a specific point House knows for certain that she is ready to talk. "What happened?"

She takes a deep inhale and moves her head back enough for him to hear her. "Two dead children."

He is aware of the fact that she takes terminal cases of children especially hard, but working at a hospital where death is everyday business, they both know too well that death does not even relent from the smallest and most innocent. "They were special to you," he concludes.

"The first one wasn't. I never even met him, actually." Her voice is quiet and even. "A healthy baby boy. Delivered three days ago. From a young, single mother. I guess the nurses didn't notice how few visitors she had. Or how depressed she was. She was supposed to be relieved today, but… She must have been too overwhelmed with the situation… the hormones… how to handle an infant." Cuddy moves her head from side to side.

House looks down incredulously. "She killed him?" he asks cautiously.

"Smothered him. With a pillow. By the time a nurse found him it was too late. I had to call the cops. Have her arrested." She shakes her head again.

"Damn." House exhales slowly, biting down on the inside of his lower lip. His hands span her back, both palms pressing her against him. He swallows hard. "And the other?"

She takes a couple of breaths before she answers. "A girl. She was a patient. She came to the hospital with her parents when I was helping out in the clinic. I suspected leukemia right away, passed her case onto oncology to run the blood tests. Her parents fell apart when they heard the diagnosis, and they asked me to explain it to their daughter. Which I did."

She pauses and rubs her forehead. He focuses on the rise and fall of her ribcage. "She got admitted. There were complications with her treatment, which basically made her a prisoner at the hospital most of the time." She takes a couple more breaths. "I guess she kinda felt a liking for me. She would stop by my office time and time again after asking my assistant for permission to knock. Just to say hi and to ask me how I was doing. After they shaved her head, she dropped in to hear my opinion. After that she'd present me her weekly changing hats. She was the sweetest little girl with a brilliant smile. When I had a few minutes to spare, I'd sit her up on the couch and talk with her. She never wanted to discuss her condition. Just told me about the fun she'd had with the nurses. Or about pranks the kids pulled on each other. She'd ask me what it was like being a doctor. What it was like growing up and being an adult woman. She was wise beyond her years."

Cuddy takes another short break to sort out her feelings. Eventually, she continues. "Her condition took a pretty fast downturn. When she wasn't able to come see me anymore, I'd stop by her room occasionally—before leaving the hospital at night or on my way back from the cafeteria. It always amazed me how happy she was. That she could experience happiness in the midst of all that misery—holding all the terribly shitty cards life had dealt her." She takes a deep breath. "Today she passed," she whispers.

House presses his eyes shut. The sadness traveling through him renders him speechless. He knows that horrible and unfair things like this happen every day, and he knows she is telling herself the same thing. Children who have done nothing wrong and should not experience such suffering die every day all over the world, and there is nothing in their power to prevent it. But knowing and accepting that fact bears no comfort whenever misery befalls a child you have made yourself familiar with. Cuddy knew this girl, if only vaguely through a few brief moments. A sweet little girl who wasn't going to be at the hospital any longer to smile at his girlfriend, and House feels awful. "I'm sorry, honey."

His words seem to surprise her, because she pulls back from him to see his face, her eyebrow arching up. "What, it takes two dead children, a second attempt at a relationship, and more than half of a lifetime of knowing me for you to call me that?"

He hears no accusation in her voice, but her words somewhat indicate it. He squints his eyes at her. "You want me to call you that?"

She ponders his question for a second. "No." Her features soften, and he can tell she means what she said. "This was perfect just now." She presses her lips to his jaw.

His hand traces the length of her spine. "She was able to be happy with you. You were a kind of guardian for her. Always there, at the hospital. But detached enough not to be sad in her presence. Her parents were probably in tears all the time. Or at least the underlying emotion was grief, and she knew that. With you, she could experience moments of joy. Pure joy. She didn't have to feel guilty for letting you down. Because she was dying."

Cuddy takes in a quivering breath, and he feels her body shudder, his words finally moving her to the point where she releases the tears she had been holding and refusing to shed. "Thank you," she mumbles into his chest, sniffing her nose.

He kisses the crown of her head.

"I was so glad to find you here on the couch. When I got home." Her voice is uneven as she continues to cry. "I'm so glad every day. Knowing that I'm coming home to you. I'm sorry it took me this long to say that out loud."

His heart warms at her admission, but he deflects it with a joke. "Don't worry. Your moans every night leave no doubt about your appreciation for my presence."

She gives a brief chuckle. After she has calmed down she looks up at him. "How was _your_ day?"

"Good. Your genius boyfriend solved another case. Sent Mrs. —" he makes an attempt to remember the name, but fails miserably, "_the patient_ home to her three year old boy." He thinks. "Or girl. Either of which."

"Great work," she smiles, and ruffles through his hair.

For a while they just lie quietly on the couch and hold each other. House thinks Cuddy might have nodded off when suddenly she stirs in his arms.

"That's our song," she exclaims.

He frowns at her. "We have a song?"

"Well, no, but it was playing at the 80s ball at that conference while we danced, you don't remember?"

Of course he remembers their dance, but he has no recollection of the music accompanying it. "I kinda had the hots for my boss at the time. All my senses were preoccupied with checking her out."

Cuddy smiles. Considering his statement, she squints her eyes at him. "I get the other four, but in what way exactly were you tasting me?"

He lowers his voice. "Trust me, I was busy _imagining_ tasting you. Push those dark curls off your shoulder… take a nip at your neck."

Cuddy bites down on her lower lip.

"Which I'm sure you even would have let me do if it hadn't been for that new babysitter of yours hiding up in your hotel room. What was his name again? Mucus?"

He sees a surge of guilt flash across her face, which she pushes aside. "How's your leg?" she asks instead.

"You wanna dance?" he frowns at her.

"Only if it won't make your leg worse. It's not that important."

Last night had been a bad pain night, which she had been witness to, much to his dismay. "It's fine," he assures her, moving to get up. "It can take some swaying." She sits up on the couch. "As long as you don't mind Little Greg tagging along." She glances at him over her shoulder. "I was referring to my cane this time," he smirks. He picks up the remote and ups the volume a bit.

She grabs his cane and hands it to him, about to walk into the free area next to the coffee table when he stops her.

"A-hem," he clears his throat to catch her attention, and holds out his left hand to her. "May I have this dance with you?" he asks politely, holding her gaze intently.

She exhales deeply as her lips spread into a smile, her eyes sparkling. "Since you've asked so nicely," she whispers and places her elegant fingers in his palm.

He draws her with him and pulls her close, his left arm draping around her, and they start to move to the soft rhythm of the music. Her fingers interlace behind his neck, and her cheek comes to rest against his chest, the lack of her high heels increasing their height difference. He closes his eyes with the feel of her against him, the few times they danced like this running through his mind.

"So tell me," she says, creating some distance between them in order to look up into his eyes, "that night—the first time we danced—at what point did you know I was going to ask you inside?" Obviously she has been thinking about the same thing.

He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth twitching up. He contemplates her question for a moment and tries to be honest with himself and her. "When you pulled me over your doorstep?!"

She seems surprised. "Really?"

He shrugs. "My plan was to walk you to your dorm. Maybe get to second base on the way there, slip my hand under your shirt. I took you for the type of girl who only sleeps with gals she has an established relationship with."

"I was," she admits somewhat coyly.

He conjures up the image of her from forty years ago. How young she had been; how carefree and new. "Broke the rules for me, huh?" he smirks. "Couldn't resist my dazzling and charming wit."

She inhales and is about to give a decent come-back, he is sure, but he interferes by swiftly taking her right hand into his left and moving them both up and overhead while he gives her hip a push with the side of his fist holding his cane.

Her eyes go wide, but she complies and goes with the motion, swiveling outward under their raised arms before he lowers their hands and pulls her back in. Her smile is wide and radiant, and he can tell he caught her by surprise. Seeing her joy motivates him to rummage through his brain for some more moves he learned from observation back when he was still agile on his two feet and went out dancing late into the night. He gives her hips a gentle shove with both hands to create more distance between them, then he raises his left arm again to spiral her in toward him until her back briefly meets his chest, their arms coming down in front of them, before he raises them back up and swivels her out. The push-and-pull movements remind him of all the times in their lives they had pushed each other away. Luckily, their bond had been both strong and pliant enough to withstand the tear and eventually brought them back together.

"You never cease to amaze me," she tells him with a warm smile. Her face is priceless and worth every twitch in his leg. He does a couple more swivels, which actually elicit her to giggle, before he finally holds her in place after a turn inward with her back facing him, his left hand coming to rest on her right hip, pulling her tight. "We were on fire that night," she whispers in a husky tone, her breath slightly labored. Her left hand covers his, her fingers occupying the empty spaces between his splayed ones.

"That wasn't the only time we were on fire," he comments, his thumb wiggling under the hem of her shirt and finding a patch of bare skin above the hem of her skirt. Their hips move in complete sync, their bodies aligning to each other, finding their perfect tune.

She tucks her hair behind her right ear before her hand continues its journey upward to cup his neck. "No, it wasn't." Raising up onto her toes she arches her spine to press her butt firmly against his crotch. She turns her head as far as her position allows her, her eyes filled with want and desire for him.

He lowers his head to meet her slightly parted and waiting lips. The heat and electricity flowing between them never fails to catch him off guard a little, and he moans into her mouth. The kiss is deep and soft and wet, their tongues dancing with each other in the same slow rhythm as their bodies.

After a moment of making out he can feel a thought distracting her and she pulls away reluctantly. "Where's John?" she murmurs against his lips.

"Band practice," he mumbles back, "won't be home before ten."

"Good." She quickly recaptures his mouth.

Swaying gently in their lovers embrace, neither of them notices the tunes of the song as it approaches its final notes and slowly reaches its end.

_Time after time_

_Time after time_

_Time after time_


	47. Chapter 47

_Having almost reached the end of the story, I would like to dedicate this chapter to everyone who continued to show their appreciation throughout the last 10 months (yes, it's been that long…). OldSFfan, jkarr, cali, and my nice Guest, I think you commented on pretty much every one of the chapters, and it was really wonderful to have this steadfast support – to know you would cheer me on no matter what, so thank you so much for that. This also goes to all of you who recurrently expressed their joy in the reviews and gave me many words of encouragement: Whitman, KKBK2, harp, cce410, Gayle, ancilla, and marmite (hope I didn't forget anyone). It really meant a lot to me._

_A big thanks to everyone else who took their time to leave a comment – the vast majority of them were very kind and encouraging (which was a bit surprising to me, given the relatively rough levels of communication in social media nowadays), I highly appreciate the respect. I never had to hold my breath when checking the reviews. _

_This is another one of my favorite chapters, and I'm so excited to finally share it with you. It's not as peachy as the title sounds, so beware… ;-)_

**Chapter 47: House Asks Cuddy a Question**

House and Cuddy return home from a Friday night out. The kids are both there—it is Labor Day weekend and Rachel's last weekend at home before the fall semester starts on Tuesday.

House quickly shakes his head at them when he and Cuddy enter, informing them wordlessly that he has not asked.

He is not sure why exactly, and is slightly disappointed in himself. He had taken Cuddy out to a fancier restaurant, though not fancy enough to raise suspicions. They had sat at a secluded table in a quiet corner by the window. House hadn't planned when exactly he would ask her, or what exactly he would say. He thought he would just know. It didn't even need to be during dinner. Maybe afterwards, on their way to the car. She would be cold, as usual, and he'd put his jacket on her. She would, as usual, bury her hands in its pockets, and her fingers would brush against the little box.

But the timing seemed off all throughout dinner, and the air outside was exceptionally warm tonight. Also, the atmosphere between them had remained dreary and far from romantic the entire time. Cuddy appeared stressed from work; House felt uncomfortable and nervous.

"What happened?" Rachel hisses at him when Cuddy is in the bathroom taking off her make up. House had informed the kids about his intentions, and Rachel had insisted on being in town when he asks.

He shrugs and shakes his head, pressing his index finger against his lips. "Get lost," he whispers to both her and John. "Night's not over, yet." He is determined to follow through with his plan.

He changes into more comfortable clothes and waits for Cuddy on the couch, zapping through the channels.

"Where are the kids?" she asks when she returns from the bathroom. She walks up to him while she finishes to rub lotion across her forearms. She is wearing a T-shirt and a pair of comfortable pants she wears for yoga.

"Went to bed."

"It's not even ten thirty," she frowns, settling down next to him.

"Rache said she wants to be rested for the party tomorrow, and John plans on getting up early to study for a test or something. I'd say your eager beaver genes are taking too much of a toll on him."

"Hm." The corners of her mouth lift up briefly.

"You want the remote?" He has hardly played attention to the screen and balances the remote on her thigh without awaiting her response.

She seems slightly perplexed about his offer, but takes it anyways.

While Cuddy watches TV, House starts to relax. 'This is better,' he thinks. They have shared so many important moments of their relationship on this couch—and in this particular room in general. Who said there was a dress code or a rule about a fancy setting for a proposal?

Nevertheless, his hands are sweaty, and he looks at her several times while trying to come up with how to start and what to say.

"House?" she asks eventually, raising her eyebrows at him, obviously having noticed his sideway glances.

He pulls the remote from her hand, turns off the TV, and takes a deep breath. "There's this… case… I've been wanting to address all night. It's kind of a big case."

She waits expectantly, her eyebrows rising up.

"And all this time I thought _where_ I addressed it mattered … or how… when in fact it doesn't. So…" He pulls out the little box from the pocket of his PJ pants. "It's actually less about a case and more about a _casing_… and what it holds." As he did with the remote, he places it carefully on her thigh.

Cuddy stares at the box and then at him, her expression blank. "What's that?" she asks quite drily.

"A small piece of wood in the form of a cuboid," he deadpans. "What does it look like it is?"

"If this is a joke, I'm not finding it very funny." She sounds dead serious.

House is confused by her reaction. "I realize I have quite the reputation for outstanding pranks, but—" he gestures towards the box with his head, "—nothings gonna jump at you. Or squirt you in the eye. Just open it up."

"You can't be serious," she insists, keeping her hands tightly folded in her lap.

House frowns. "Why not?"

"You hate marriage."

"I never said that!" This is not at all how he had envisioned this moment to go.

"Actually, it's _exactly_ what you said. You hate weddings and their seven levels of hypocrisy—"

"Weddings!" he points out.

"—and you rambled on about how marriage was invented because females needed protection from predators while breastfeeding."

"Wow. Someone was really paying attention to my words of wisdom back in the day."

She tucks her chin. "Well, we were dating at the time," she says quietly. "A girl listens to these things."

"Did it occur to you that maybe I was trying to throw you off a little, leave you in the lurch to double the surprise effect?" It starts to annoy him that his proposal is turning into an argument. "Definitely worked its magic," he says sarcastically.

"No," she refutes, "that was neither the first nor the last opportunity you took to mock marriage."

He sighs. "So you're saying 'No' to me because of some stuff I said over fifteen years ago?"

Cuddy is visibly getting frustrated as well. "First of all, you didn't even ask, and second of all, I'm not saying anything. I'm _asking_ you why you would suddenly change your mind about this." She closes her fingers around the box, but without any intention of opening it; only so it won't slide off her leg while she straightens her back and wildly gestures with her hands.

House rises from the couch and starts pacing around the living room. "We've been dating five months, we're doing great, we have two kids together, we've basically been living under the same roof for years… It just… It felt like the next step."

"Those are great reasons for other people to get married. They never were for you."

"What do you want from me? You want me to get down on one knee, cite a poem and give you a list with one hundred things I like about you? Smear some honey on your ego-driven heart?"

She glares at him. "If there is _one_ thing about human behavior that fascinates you, it's motive. And now that I'm asking for _yours_, I'm being a narcissist?"

"I just want you to be my wife, isn't that reason enough? 'Girlfriend' sounds so juvenile. John has a girlfriend. When I introduce you to someone, I want be able to call you my wife."

She raises both eyebrows. "So this is about marking your territory. To demonstrate that I'm yours."

"God, no! What the hell is going on with you? Are my words twisting _before_ they make it to your brain or after?" His level of agitation has been rising, and he tries to calm himself by taking a couple of breaths. He makes one more attempt. "I didn't mock marriage, I mocked people who got married for the wrong reasons. Couples in their early twenties who believe their super special bond will last forever although they hardly know each other. People who want to show off; who are scared of being alone; who believe marriage will make them happy; who use it to overcome a bump in their relationship..." He places his hand on his forehead. "But we've known each other for decades, we love each other, and, let's face it, we're relatively old, and I can say with a respectably high level of certainty that I want to spend the little that is left of my life with _you_."

She puffs out some air and looks to the side. "Now _that's_ romantic."

House shakes his head swiftly from side to side, flabbergasted by her irrationality. "You were asking for motive, not romance." He limps towards her and snatches the box from her, shoving it back inside his pocket. "You know what, forget it. I thought you'd be—"

"What?" she cuts him off angrily. "Happy? In tears?"

He stares at her in disbelief. He has absolutely no clue as to why she is being so spiteful.

"Is this for my benefit? You're afraid the honeymoon phase is wearing off so you went searching for our next high? And thought to yourself: What can I do to keep up her good spirits? Oh wait, there's still that thing with the ring?"

He shakes his head again and throws his left hand in the air. "I have no idea why you're being this bitchy. I'm not even sure _you_ do." He turns away from her and starts limping towards the hallway. "Let me know when you figured it out."

He hears her get up from the couch and walk after him. "And where are _you_ going?" she demands to know.

"Guest bedroom," he throws over his shoulder.

"_Or_ why not go straight to your apartment instead?"

House stops in his tracks. She was supposed to be under the impression that he moved out of his apartment two months ago. He turns around slowly, scanning her up and down. "So you know about that?"

"Yes, I know about that," she growls at him angrily. "Is this why you kept it? In case we had a blowout? So you'd have a retreat?"

"I knew you'd misinterpret," he says, dropping his forehead against the palm of his hand. "How long have you known?"

"I drove by there the other day, on my way to the dentist. I got out, thought I'd check the doorbells and send you a picture in case the new tenant had a funny name. _Funny it was_ when it was the _same_ name, and from what I could see through the windows, the _same_ furniture inside."

Damn. And he thought he had covered all his bases. He never expected her to actually stop by there and check. "Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

She takes a deep breath. "Because I was hoping that you would come to me first. I thought we were at a point not only in our relationship but in our lives where you'd tell me if you had any doubts. Or fears."

House hangs his head.

"And I initially thought it's what tonight was going to be about," she continues. "You _never_ make reservations two days in advance. But you were just acting weird all throughout dinner, and then you pull out that ring… What the hell else am I supposed to think but this to be some kind of knee-jerk reaction to something you did or didn't do?"

House takes a couple of breaths. "This is exactly why I didn't say anything to you. I knew you'd overreact, when in fact it's not important. It has nothing to do with our relationship."

"So you thought it would be better to _lie_ to me?" she asks incredulously. "About how you terminated your lease? How you sold your furniture on eBay?"

He sighs and scratches his temple. "I did sell a shoe rack," he says casually, trying to take some of the tension out. "Now that all my sneakers are here…"

She stares at him furiously.

"I'm a moron," he admits. "I didn't want you to get upset."

She throws back her head to shake her hair from her face. "Well, the fact that you still haven't told me why you kept it is really not putting me at ease here. I'm actually beginning to thinks it's worse than what I'd imagined."

He chews on the inside of his cheek while he tries to come up with a plausible story he could feed her besides the truth. He feels too uncomfortable telling her the real reason.

"What in the world is it, House? Are you still seeing your hookers there?"

He looks at her in disbelief. "What? No!"

"Are you having an affair?"

"Christ, Cuddy, I said it wasn't anything significant."

"Well, isn't that how guys tend to start this conversation? 'It's no big deal, honey, it was just sex'?"

Her bizarre assumption makes him wonder… He squints his eyes at her. "Did Michael cheat on you?"

Her jaw drops a notch and she stares at him with wide eyes. He has actually rendered her speechless.

"Wow." House is genuinely surprised. "And I always thought he was such a saint."

Cuddy composes herself. "Quit making this about me and tell me what the hell is going on!"

He sighs heavily and gives up hiding his motives from her. "I just… It's my apartment. I've had it for over thirty years. It's… I don't know. Sometimes I go there to sit on my couch, throw my ball against the wall. It-it makes me feel safe."

She scans his face probingly. "How on earth could you possibly thinks that's something I wouldn't understand?"

He shrugs. "I thought you'd take it to mean that I didn't feel completely safe here. That I was still keeping a trap door; that I wasn't one hundred percent in. Which I am."

"House, I know how important your stuff is to you." She sounds slightly less agitated than a minute ago. "Even back when you hardly had anything here, it all had to be at its rightful place. It's why I kept _asking_ you if you wanted more of your furniture _here_." She waves her hand in the direction of the couch. "_I'm_ not attached to my coffee table."

"It's not the same thing." He casts his eyes to the floor, having no idea how to explain this to her. "And besides, I was embarrassed." He rubs his forehead again. "I pretend to not give a crap about anything, and now I can't get rid of an apartment and some creaky old furniture?"

She exhales deeply. "House, you grew up in an emotionally unstable environment. You never knew when your father would go ballistic, and whether your mother would be siding with you or not. You had to put your faith in _something_." She gestures with her hand as if stating the obvious. "What else did you have but your room and your stuff? Everything stayed the same there. You could rely on finding things the way they where; where you put them."

He is surprised about her insight and understanding, and hangs his head. He could not have voiced it this clearly himself. "I'm an idiot," he mutters, not knowing what else to say.

She rubs her temple, her anger leaving her. "I just don't understand why you can't be honest with me. I mean, even if I had taken this the wrong way, if I had been upset… Why is that something to be avoided at all costs?"

He stares at the carpet and bites on the inside of his lower lip.

"Why is it that, as my best friend, you don't miss a single opportunity to press my buttons, but as my boyfriend you feel the need to sidestep my feelings?"

"I just want you to be happy," he states helplessly, briefly glancing up at her. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"As opposed to when you're my best friend?"

He takes his time contemplating her question, pondering why he tends to treat her differently in a relationship. He noticed the same behavior the last time they were dating. He shrugs. "As your best friend I want to _see_ you happy. As your boyfriend, it's kind of my job?!"

She looks at him dubiously.

"Isn't that what couples are supposed to do? Make each other happy?"

Cuddy drops her head and exhales deeply. She walks back to the couch, taking a seat. The gesture marks the end of their discussion.

He limps over and sinks into the cushions next to her.

"House," she starts, her tone taking on an explanatory notion. "My happiness is first and foremost _my_ responsibility. You can't continuously act and say things according to what makes me happy." She pulls up her legs, turning sideways on the couch to look at him directly. "I have my own issues and fears, and if you tap into them it's _my_ job to deal with them. Either by myself or I ask for your help." She furrows her eyebrows, but her expression is kind. "And I want my best friend for that! Not some pretend version of him who tiptoes around my feelings."

He nods briefly, rubbing his leg and staring at the coffee table. He feels awful. This is exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He had not realized until now that he still has not managed to completely rid himself of his fear to misstep and live down to her expectations.

Cuddy senses his distress and takes his hand, tugging on it gently. "Hey," she says, thus wordlessly asking him for his thoughts. She obviously registered his concern.

"I failed you," he says, his voice sounding cracked. "Again."

"No!" she exclaims, squeezing his hand. "House, there's no right or wrong. You did something; I was upset. That's all there is to it."

Her words give him the courage to look at her. "Past tense? You're not upset anymore?"

She presses her lips together, inhales deeply, and looks at the ceiling, checking her internal plate. Apparently finding it to be clean, she says: "Nope. I'm not."

"Hm." He cannot help but feel like he screwed up, though, and stares into the distance, trying to figure out how to rid himself of his fear. How to do better next time.

She interrupts his brooding again. "And you better get over yourself," she says impishly, rising onto her knees. "Because I'm going to make out with you now." She crawls onto his lap—always mindful of his leg—and does just that.

Her kiss is deep and intense, and House finds it indeed hard to keep up with the self-blame when he has her tongue inside his mouth. For several times in the past months he has noticed how differently they handle their relationship, but he is still surprised by how easy she is on him. The last time they were dating, she would have made a federal case out of his lie and given him the cold shoulder until he had apologized. Which, looking back upon their conversation, he hadn't even done.

He lets his hands slide from her waist to her back where he sneaks them under her shirt. A soft hum escapes the back of her throat.

Cuddy pulls away and looks at him with affection. "I _am_ happy, House." He feels one of her hands on his neck; the other is cupping his jaw, her thumb stroking his stubble. "And you know why?"

"Because I'm past sixty and am blessed with a relatively decent beard?" he jests.

"Because I'm in love with my best friend. And he is in love with me. And he finally decided to touch me and make love to me and fall asleep with his arms around me at night and wake up next to me the following morning. Because he finally decided to _share his life _with me." She pauses, her fingertips gently brushing along his temple. "That's why I was upset. Because suddenly you stopped, and I didn't understand why."

"I'm sorry," he tells her, the words leaving his mouth easily.

"I don't care if you keep the apartment," she states firmly. "And I don't need a ring. I just want my best friend to spend the rest of his life with me."

He smirks. "If you don't mind your best friend grabbing your ass all day," he says and lets his hands travel to her perfectly shaped butt.

She smiles and leans forward to kiss him again.

Several minutes pass in which they both feel like teenagers who cannot keep their hands and mouths off each other. Eventually, House pulls his head back to look at her. "I _am_ going to keep the apartment. At least for another while. I am _not_, however—" he fumbles for the box in his pocket and fishes it out, "—keeping this ring." He squeezes his fingers around the warm wood, feeling its soft edges press into his palm. "So, it's either I toss it, _or_—" he opens the lid with his thumb, "—you can take _a look_ at it." He holds it to their sides so they can both see it. He takes a glance at the ring, but quickly focuses his eyes on Cuddy.

Her lips are slightly parted, and he can tell that she is holding her breath. "It's beautiful," she whispers.

"Yeah?" The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Rachel helped me pick."

Her upper body draws back a bit, and she looks at him in wonder. "Rache knew about this?"

"The kids both did. I asked them for permission."

Her jaw drops a notch.

"I know, a bit old fashioned, right?"

Amusement mixes in with bewilderment. "To be asking kids for permission?"

House shrugs. "Family members. I was too much of a coward to risk another black eye from your sister."

She smiles, but her surprise is still written all over her face. "So the kids both knew that you were going to propose to me?"

He nods. "They've probably been eavesdropping in on us this whole time." He gestures towards the closed door leading to the hallway. "So let's not go too much into detail about our—" he raises his voice and turns his head in the direction of the hallway, "—highly adventurous and extraordinarily satisfying sex life."

"They knew that you were going to propose to me _tonight_?"

"They thought we'd return from dinner with our eyes glistening."

She seems completely stunned. "But you didn't ask at dinner."

House frowns. "Something was off. First I thought it was me, then I thought it was the place…"

"But it was me," she whispers. "I was the one who was off."

He presses his lips together.

A wave of sadness flickers over her face. "I've completely ruined this for you," she mutters.

"Nope. I ruined it for myself. Should've told you about the apartment."

She exhales deeply and leans into him to rest her forehead against his. They breathe in unison for a while.

Suddenly, Rachel's muffled voice emanates from behind the door: "Ask her again."

House and Cuddy both turn their heads towards the hallway and then back to look at each other.

"That bossiness of hers—where do you think she got that from?" House mumbles, searching Cuddy's face. He is waiting for a hint from her. After everything that happened and everything she said, he is unsure she even wants this.

She just gazes back at him, looking slightly shy and apprehensive; the corners of her mouth are twitching upward. Her reaction conveys all the information he needs.

"Fine," he says in mock annoyance, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "But just for the record, this is the last time I'm asking," he announces audibly. "A guy can only take that many rejections. Even one as sturdy as me."

Cuddy draws in a shaky breath, and a thousand emotions flood her face simultaneously, which she can barely contain.

With that, she gives him everything he wished for and more, and it provides him with so much clarity and certainty that he no longer has to search for words—they are just there, welling up from deep inside of him. "Cuddy," he begins, "I didn't ask because I felt guilty because of the apartment. I'm asking because I want you to be my wife. Because you're smart and funny and beautiful and sexy as hell, because you're the mother of the two nosy kids out there, and because, let's face it, you're already mine. And not in the sense of property or possession, but in the sense that out of the billions of people swarming the world, you are _my_ person. You're the one who gets me, who puts up with my quirks, who knows how to deal with my idiocy…" He nods towards where they just stood fighting. "And because you're the only person _I_ can stand to be with more than two consecutive days in a row."

Cuddy smiles at him tentatively, her eyes filling with tears.

"Because you're… Cuddy. Because of everything you are, because of everything I am, and everything we are together. You are my best friend, my lover, my keeper, sometimes my mother…" He pulls one corner of his mouth to the side. "And I want you to be my wife."

Cuddy draws in her lower lip as her teardrops start rolling down her cheeks.

"Because you are the love of my life, and I can safely say that I _will_ love you until the day I die. And when I do, I'll return as a ghost and haunt only you."

She chuckles mildly.

"And maybe the kids a little," he adds, nodding his head towards the hallway. "So," he exhales, "you're up." He pulls the ring from its confinement and holds it up between his index finger and thumb. "Will you marry me?"

She swallows against the lump in her throat, and barely audibly she whispers: "Yeah."

"Yeah?" He cocks his head.

She nods with emphasis, a wide grin spreading across her face while more tears spill from her eyes. "Yes!"

He slips the ring on her finger as she dives for his lips, pulling him close by the nape of his neck.

In that instant, the door flies open and John and Rachel come rushing in, running towards them. They stop briefly to make sure: "We did hear a 'Yes', right?"

Cuddy beams at them and holds up her left hand to show them the sparkling ring on her finger.

Rachel squeaks, and she and John jump on the couch, one on either side, completing the huddle. They are a bundle of joy, sharing hugs and smiles and kisses, John and Rachel bouncing up and down on the couch because they cannot contain their excitement.

"This is the best thing ever," John exclaims. "We were dying out there!"

"You two sure know how to go all drama," Rachel adds. Then she grins. "I'm so happy! We have cake, by the way. And ice cream. And some of that non-alcoholic sparkly stuff."

"Aw, that's sweet." Cuddy wipes away her tears and pulls their children into an embrace. "My angels." She smiles at House, who also has his arms around the kids. "All three of them," she whispers, holding onto his gaze.

_Author note: Okay, so I guess in the end it was as peachy as the title suggested, but I wanted to keep you on your toes ;-). I hope you liked it! Next week there will be 1 more chapter and 1 small epilogue, but that'll be it._


	48. Chapter 48

_For a long time I believed the marriage proposal chapter was going to be the last one, but at some point (rather far down the road) I realized that one major question hasn't been answered, yet, which I tackle in this chapter. For a while I thought I wasn't going to write it down, but it's essential for a resolution. I re-watched Season 7 Huddy clips a lot while writing this story, and this chapter is my take on what might have been going on with Cuddy. _

_Warning: In the beginning there is a little bit of dirty talk, but no actual sex. If you don't wanna read it, I included an LLLLLL-line when you should start skipping and another one when you can stop skipping._

**Chapter 48: The Why**

They are at the beach together.

They got married Thanksgiving weekend. The ceremony was small: just them and the kids. After that, they flew south to enjoy some time off in warmer temperatures.

The weather is perfect: Not too hot for House to feel awkward to be wearing pants and a T-shirt lying at the beach, but mild enough for Cuddy to take off her summer dress and sun bathe next to him in her bikini.

They had a light lunch of delicious seafood at a restaurant near their hotel, took a stroll along the shoreline where the sand was hard and wet, providing enough stability for House's cane, and then settled down on a blanket.

House watched Cuddy applying sunscreen to her fair skin, and took pleasure in spreading some on her back.

She seems to be dozing a little, lying on her stomach with her eyes closed, while he has his head propped up on one elbow, observing the clouds and the waves and the few people passing by. They are traveling off-season, and the beach is scarcely occupied. His hand rests on her lower back, caressing her lazily. Eventually, she seeks out his warmth and shifts closer to him, her shoulder coming into contact with his chest.

"You know, your ass is obscuring half of my view of the ocean. Did you know it was _that_ big? Half the Gulf of México?" He uses the native pronunciation. They arrived two days ago, and she seemed to be enjoying having someone by her side who easily communicates with the locals; she frequently asks him for translations.

She chuckles. "It's all a question of perspective. Change your angle."

"Actually, I'm quite fond of this angle," he smirks and lets his hand travel down further. He slips only his pinky under the elastic of her bikini bottoms, and slides his fingers along her waistline.

"House," she warns mildly. "Not a private beach."

_(LLLLLLLLLL start skipping LLLLLLL)_

"Remind me to make sure of that next time." He moves his mouth closer to her ear. "I'd really like to go further south. And I'm not talking geography."

She opens her eyes a crack. "I got that."

"Squeeze those juicy cheeks before moving further down to where the band is playing… strum you a little."

"Jesus, House," she hisses. He can tell she is getting turned on.

He lightly brushes the tips of his index and middle finger up and down her spine. "Maybe dip two fingers inside you, have you moaning softly."

Her lips part; her breath hitches.

"I love when you express your pleasure," he lets his voice rumble into her ear. "Every time I enter you. Your endless joy for my stick."

She swallows hard. "House, no fair," she protests, slight exasperation ringing in her voice. "You getting me all hot and bothered with absolutely no option for relieve."

He smiles. "Oh trust me, I'll give you plenty of relieve back at the hotel. So far I've come up with 38 places, positions included, to do you in our suite. Not counting the ones we already did it in. Consider this an extended period of foreplay."

The sound coming from her throat is a mixture of a laugh and a grunt of frustration.

"Believe me, you're not the only one who's bothered." He moves his hips forward, pressing his semi-hard penis against her butt. "Another advantage of your oversized rear. Makes for great cover." He tucks her hair behind her ear and leans over to kiss the soft skin where her neck meets her hairline.

"You're gonna get us arrested. For indecent exposure." Her hand slides down between their bodies, but he catches it before she reaches his crotch.

_(LLLLLLLLLL stop skipping LLLLLLL)_

"Nah-ah, patience is a virtue," he reprimands, pulling her hand to his mouth and pressing his lips to her delicate fingers. "Although meeting the local authorities would definitely make for a great honeymoon story. The number one advice for a long-lasting marriage is to keep things adventurous and spicy."

She raises an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yup. Another is to dish out compliments. Which I already covered by repeatedly complementing on your ass."

She smiles. "Did you accidentally stumble upon a 'How to make your marriage work' podcast?"

"The third is to foster communication." He releases her hand to the blanket and pulls on the string of her bikini top, undoing the loop on her back.

"House!" she chides, but he continues, releasing the strings to either side of her torso. "I'm sure they were referring to _oral_ communication."

He chuckles.

"As in _spoken words_," she corrects herself, but is amused by her own pun.

"They were in my way," he replies cockily, and resumes stroking her back. He moves his hand across her ribcage and tickles her side, the tips of his fingers briefly brushing over the outer curve of her breast.

"Oh God," she breathes, expressing both indignation and arousal. She presses her arm against her upper body to cover up his indiscretion. "It's like dating a teenager."

"But with the experience and skills of a lifetime," he winks at her. He pulls his hand away and kisses her shoulder. "Fine, I'll stop. Relax."

They lie quietly for a couple of minutes.

Since playtime is over, he decides to address an issue that has been on his mind for a while. "So, _honey_—," he starts, "this being our honeymoon and all—I'd say it's your turn to contribute with some spoken words." He rests his palm between her shoulder blades. "Hand to heart: What screwed us up last time?" Since they got back together, his thoughts kept wandering into the past, replaying interactions from the first time they were dating, searching for sings leading to their break-up. Not only because he wants to avoid walking down that same road again, but also because Cuddy treats him so differently this time. She is so much more at ease, which lead him to believe that there must have been some underlying issue back in the day, something he missed. He needs to solve the puzzle—an important piece of his life still missing. "And don't give me any of that crap about how one Vicodin gave you an epiphany about my wicked and evil character. You knew me."

He feels her holding her breath, her body tensing up. She squints at him, searching his face with furrowed eyebrows, and exhales carefully. "So that was your plan? To get me all imprudent and malleable? Stripping me literally to make way for my emotional striptease?" She sounds defensive and uncomfortable, and House is not exactly sure why.

"Right," he says sarcastically, "I fiendishly tricked you into talking by flat-out asking for your reasons to break up with me." He takes out some of the edge in his voice. "I want to know so we can take precautions this time." With Wilson gone and no one to confide in, House had actually checked out some pages on the Internet that promised to hold the secrets to a long lasting ever after. Turned out they were more full of shit than he had fathomed. He lets his fingertips trail down her arm, his thumb rubbing gently over the ring on her finger. "This is important to me. You are."

She takes in a deep breath and her harshness fades, but she still seems reluctant to open up to him.

He slides his hand up her arm and onto her back again, lightly massaging her, trying to help her relax.

She folds her hands on top of each other and rubs her forehead against the back of her hand, taking her time to think. Eventually, she settles her cheek on her folded hands and says quietly: "It wasn't you, House." She closes her eyes briefly before looking at him. "At the time I believed it was about what I said to you. It's what I told Wilson. What I told my family… What I told myself."

"But it wasn't."

She shakes her head and takes her time to think for a moment. "It was just… too much."

"What was?"

"You. Us. It was too intense, too important." Her eyes wander away from his, focusing on nothing in particular, looking into the past. "I thought about this. A lot. Especially after you told me about your childhood, but even before then. When you decided against a second go at a relationship with me." She takes a beat to gather her thoughts. "All my life, since I was a teenager, I strived for independence. My mother was so manipulative, so overbearing… All I wanted was to be free, to not need anyone, for anything. I took a loan to finance med school, I went on far-away trips by myself, I bought a house on my own, I adopted alone; I took a career where I was the boss. I was proud of my independence. Looking back on my long list of boyfriends, I realized that in all of my relationships, I was the one with the upper hand. The relationship always meant a little bit more to the other person than it did to me, which gave me more power. It left me in charge. But with you…?"

"I was a loose cannon," he offers.

She gives a small nod. "And still I tried to control you, even though I knew the futility of it. I made all these rules: 'if you don't do this, I'll do that; if you do that, I'll stop doing this'… It was all so petty. I think I was fine in the beginning because I was sure you'd be the one who'd jump ship, who wouldn't be able to handle it. But you just went along with it all, dodging some of it, but essentially taking most of my crap. And gracefully so." She rubs her forehead. "But the lack of control over you wasn't the worst part," she mutters. After a moment, she focuses her eyes on him, looking at him intently. "I started to need you, House. Both physically and emotionally. Back then I never would have admitted it—to you, or to myself. But I remember that I started having trouble sleeping when you didn't stay over. Or when I'd wake up in the morning and you'd gone from bed, I'd have this mild form of panic. That something was wrong; that you might've left."

"You called out to me sometimes," he recollects. "After waking up."

She nods. "I _needed_ you to be there. That day and tomorrow and the next. To me, you were like this god of power, and if I were to take my eyes off you, if you were to take your eyes off me, I'd slip and wither away, never to completely function again. I was constantly thinking of you. Every little thing you did mattered, even the most meaningless bullshit."

"Like getting a massage from a hooker?" he suggests. "Or lying to you about a patient?"

"Which you had done millions of times before," she nods. "But suddenly it seemed unacceptable. I was completely overreacting to it all. Everyone, including me, was so fixated on your need for me, without taking note of my growing need for you. I mean, I'd always longed for your attention and your approval, but it became so vital. And that scared the crap out of me. It almost felt like I was in danger. That if I didn't watch out, I'd lose—I don't know—my self? My sanity? Rachel was also getting more and more attached to you, and instead of being happy about that it worried me." She shakes her head again. "So I kept on pressuring you, mostly unconsciously, knowing that you didn't deal well with expectations. But you stood your ground, managing it all with Wilson by your side, helping you navigate through. And then you made it pretty clear that you were all in, and I…"

"So _you_ jumped ship," he concludes.

She swallows hard. "I bailed. At the first opportunity I got. At least the first one that was big enough so I could justify to myself to get out of this." Her sad eyes search his face. "I felt awful. I knew how much I was hurting you, and it was hurting me, too. But at the same time, I also felt relieved. I was able to crawl back into my comfort zone. Pretend you were the loose canon and I was the tough-as-nails first female captain who had everything under control, steering the ship again."

He looks at her for a long time before he rolls onto his back, fixing his eyes to the sky. He needs a moment to process what she just confessed to him. He had suspected something along the lines, but hearing it from her—that she had basically dumped him out of fear, and had deceived him and possibly herself about the real motive—makes him feel a wide range of emotions, the most dominant being sadness, disappointment, and disillusionment. All those years he had spent beating himself up about his failure seem so pointless considering that she had been the one who blasted the rift between them.

But he also feels oddly relieved, and at first he is unsure why. Maybe because it means that he was less responsible than he thought. It takes some pressure off him. He had always put her on such a high pedestal. Even now, he occasionally experiences a surge of inferiority. Because of how screwed up he feels from his childhood he still tends to believe that she is the better half of their relationship. That he somehow needs to live up to her. Squinting up at the sky, he realizes that maybe she is just as flawed. That she struggles just as much with herself and with him, carrying her own doubts and fears. Fears she rarely gives voice to—neither now nor in the past. He remembers her telling him once about her tendency to suppress them and lock them away.

His insight does not dim the brightness of the picture he has of her; it simply adds some layers and nuisances, ultimately capturing her more fully. It sets her more at level with him and makes him less scared. The concept that it takes two to make a marriage work and that they are equally responsible for its success is easier for him to accept now.

He turns his head to her. "Where do you stand on all that? Presently?"

She reties her bikini top and turns onto her side, closing some of the distance between them. The wind has picked up, and she shivers a little. "Sometimes it still frightens me. The intensity of my feelings for you. My endless need for you. But I realized at some point that neither my love nor my need will ever disappear, no matter how hard I struggle against them. It's something that has always been beyond me. That I _can't_ control, ever. So my options were either stay safe but miserable, or accept my fear and be happy with you." Her eyes fixate on him; her voice is steady. "House, I can't even begin to put into words how much you mean to me. How ridiculously happy I am just to be lying here with you. How still every time I think of the fact that I get to call you my _husband_, there's this tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach."

He holds her gaze for a while, but eventually turns his head away to look at the sky again. It has the same color as her eyes. He appreciates her words, but somehow he cannot shake his feelings of melancholy. What she told him stirred back up some of the pain he had felt when she broke up with him.

She senses the cleft between them, and tries to bridge it, both physically, by taking his hand, and emotionally, with her words. "I regret what I did to us, House. I know it was unfair to you. And I think, even back then, deep down I knew I was wrong. I felt so guilty, and believed that I deserved your anger." He turns his head back to her, and sees how upset she is. "I think it's why I kept cornering you all the time, pushing you to talk to me. A part of me was hoping that you wouldn't let me walk away so easily. That you'd confront me with my idiocy. Call my bluff. Of laying it all on you."

He still feels miserable, and a part of him wants to leave, walk along the beach by himself, and deal with his feelings alone—the way he usually does. But he realizes her effort and how difficult this must be for her as well. How shitty he would feel if he were to abandon her here, shivering in the sand. She is his wife, and he promised: for better and for worse.

So he turns onto his side as well, meeting her halfway on the bridge she tried to build but only he can complete. "I was too hurt to see it," he mumbles. "Too eager to take the blame. To believe it was all my fault."

"I know," she whispers, her lower lip quivering. She seems relieved by his gesture, and it brings her near tears. "House, I'm so sorry. All the time that we missed…" She shakes her head, casting her eyes down. "I didn't want you out of my life. Not even for a second. But then you got married, and it hit me _so_ hard. Not because of her, I knew she didn't mean a thing to you, but because I wanted it to be _me_. But I was too proud to show you any of that. Instead, we kept on hurting each other. You butchered your leg; then you crashed your car into my house, catapulting me out of your life and yourself into jail…" She pauses. Her voice is starting to shake. "And finding out I was pregnant…" She looks at him with watery eyes and can barely get the words out. "You asked me once what it was like being in labor. It was terrible, House. I was alone at the hospital. I didn't want my mother there, and I'd met Michael only a few weeks prior to my maternity leave. I cried through pretty much the whole thing. The nurses must've thought I was a real sissy. But it wasn't because of the physical pain." She starts to cry, but holds onto his gaze. "_Our child_, House. It's what I had wished for for such a long time. Even when I was doing IVF I'd wanted you to be the father. Just not in vitro. And there I was, in the hospital, giving birth to _our son_—" her voice breaks and he can barely hear her, but he knows what she wants to say anyways, "—and you weren't with me."

House feels his eyes tear up as well, his sadness about missing all those moments with her rising to the surface. He can hardly grasp all the pain they had inflicted upon each other. That two people so in love could bring about so much destruction.

He slides one arm under her neck and the other around her waist, pulling her close as she continues to cry quietly. He feels her body trembling from suppressing her sobs.

She grabs a hold of his T-shirt and leans her forehead against his chest.

They lie like this for a while, both of them shedding their tears. She seems to be getting more worked up, so he tries to calm her. "Shhhh," he hushes her, his hand stroking up and down her spine. "Who knows what would have happened," he mumbles into the crown of her head. "Who knows if we had been able to pull it off." He kisses her along her hairline. "Maybe we wouldn't be lying here together now. You and me."

She takes in a shaky breath and nods briefly, sniffling her nose. "Yeah."

He tilts up her head and kisses her face: her cheek, her left eye, the bridge of her nose where his lips catch a salty teardrop, over to her right eye and then her temple. Soft and gentle kisses meant to soothe her and express his forgiveness. "Why have you never told me any of this before?" he asks in a low voice. He rests his head back on the blanket, close to hers.

"It's not something I'm particularly proud of. I guess I felt like I deserved it a little. That you didn't want me back." She sniffs her nose again. "And I think I only fully grasped it after the incident with Ethan at the hospital. After I fell down the stairs." She squints at him. "How scared you were," she whispers, her eyes filled with compassion. Her hand reaches for his cheek. "How scared you must have been back then. And what a terribly pathetic reason that was to break up with someone." Her caress reminds him of the moment she told him good-bye, the memory edged into the dark corners of his soul. Now she takes her words back: "I realized that you _were_ always there for me. Besides Michael, you were the only person I ever _accepted_ to take care of me: when Rachel was missing, after Michael died, when my mother was sick… And even before we dated: when shit hit the fan at the hospital, when I lost Joy, the day of my miscarriage… I was just _afraid_ that you wouldn't be. Because it would have broken my heart." Her hand travels to his neck, her thumb stroking the skin behind his ear. "I didn't think telling you would make much of a difference. Actions matter, right? So I changed my behavior instead. No more expectations, no more dates. I tried to show you that I was all in this time. That it was either going to be you or no one at all. Because it was always you, House."

A warm sensation floods his chest, and he bends down to cover her lips with his.

"And _as_ for precautions," she utters, pulling back a little, "don't let me run from you again. If my fears get the best of me, which I doubt they will, but just in case, promise me you won't let me go."

He nods. "Okay," he mumbles. "I love you."

"Thank God," she smiles, and kisses him again.

"Let's get back to the hotel," he murmurs against her lips before he moves his mouth to her ear, his fingers brushing her hair from her neck. "I want you underneath me," he tells her, gently nipping at her earlobe. "Treat you to some very slow, earth-shattering sex."

"Mmmm," she hums, turning her head to claim his mouth once more. She pulls him by the nape of the neck and rolls onto her back. Her lips part, granting his tongue entrance, and he moves his upper body over hers, intensifying their kiss. Barely touching her skin, he slides one hand from just below her armpit all the way down to her hip. He feels her shuddering beneath him.

At that moment, a passer-by whistles lecherously.

"Now who's getting us into trouble?" he smirks, his face hovering only inches above hers.

She smiles back at him and gives him another brief peck on the lips. "Let's go," she whispers.

He nods and rolls onto his side.

She wipes away the remainder of her tears, sits up and puts on her sunglasses before handing him his. She hastily packs their bearings into a small backpack she brought, slips into her dress, and holds out his cane to him.

Still smirking, he slowly comes into a sitting position.

She looks at him impatiently and offers him her other hand. "God, sometimes even _I_ wish you could run," she mutters as she helps him up. Realizing the slight jab of her words, she rises onto her toes and kisses his neck in an apology.

"I get it," he counters. "Addictions are hard to fight. And with Little Greg being your number one drug…"

She grins and smacks his butt. Then she paces herself: She carefully refolds their blanket, tucks it under one arm, and picks up their shoes. She plants his right hand on her left shoulder, wordlessly motioning for him to lean on her. Slowly, they make their way through the shifting sand in which his cane is of no use, until they reach the boardwalk running along the beach, which is easier for him to manage. They put on their shoes and start to head in the direction of the hotel.

With their eyes cast to the horizon, where the sun is slowly setting and painting the sky in an explosion of red, orange and pink, they stride, hand-in-hand, into the rest of their lives.

_Author Note:_

_All righty guys, this is it: The end of the story. There will be another small addition on Saturday, but it will be a short epilogue without much drama. _

_For those of you who have not made the connection:_

Forget your troubles

come on get happy

you better chase all your cares away

shout hallelujah

come on get happy

get ready for the judgment day

The sun is shining

come on get happy

the Lord is waiting to take you hand

shout hallelujah

come on get happy

we're going to The Promised Land

_I wanted the connection to Bombshells, because it's what this story is really all about and why I wrote it. I love Cuddy and House so much, and I don't think I have ever been this upset about a TV couple breaking up, and I doubt I ever will be again. Obviously it was still bothering me 9 years later. _

_I know that many Huddy fans chose to either ignore what happened or erase what happened from their minds, which I completely understand. It is really not a tribute to the writers of a show when people feel so estranged from behaviors of their beloved characters that the only remaining explanation for what happened is that the writers simply must have gone nuts. _

_I thought the same thing for a while, especially after the events in Moving On, but I have a hard time ignoring fictional reality. So I tried to come up with a story that would fix that damage. This story was basically my therapy: my way to explain and get over what happened. _

_Another reason for the title is that I knew from the beginning that this was going to be a journey of healing and of eventually reaching that good place. I stretched the story over such a long time period because I think that healing takes time; building trust again takes time – especially time spent together; forgiveness takes time and sometimes even several attempts. _

_So I started with the question of what would get them in touch again. I thought that House never would reach out to Cuddy, but Cuddy might reach out to House if desperate enough. At first, only Rachel took part in the story, but when I was done thinking about the three weeks House stayed at their place to help, I thought: 'Why would they remain part of each other's lives after that?' That's how John "was born", which added some pain, of course, but also opened up many directions and alleys to explore. _

_While I wrote it, I frequently wondered about how realistic the story was. I realize that I painted House and Cuddy in quite nice pictures. I'm not sure if House really would have been able to stay away from drugs and if he really wouldn't have passed some of his pain onto his son. I'm not sure Cuddy would have had the insight into her own actions and her character, or the patience to wait for House to change his mind. _

_I also realize that sometimes things are over and done, and you just have to accept that and move on._

_BUT: A girl can hope. What I wrote is what I want for them and what I think they both deserve: To reach the Promised Land in the end. It's what I want not just for them, but also for you and for me and for every person in the world. I do believe that people can change and learn and grow – as individuals and together – and overcome their fears. I believe that love is greater than pain and anger, and it can help heal even the deepest of wounds. _

_So with that said, I wish you all the best! Thank you for making the journey with me._

_Be kind. Be happy. Be safe._

_And LOVE._


	49. Chapter 49

_At Indy: Are you kidding me? It was such a delight reading your reactions to the chapters! I cannot imagine what it must be like to read this whole thing in pretty much one breath. I occasionally thought I should tell you to take a break and… I don't know, breathe… or eat, or something... ;-). Thanks so much for your enthusiasm; it made my last two days a lot of fun._

_At Annie: Yes, 50 is indeed a nicer number, but since we're already past the ceremony, I will not write a chapter in retrospect. This chapter shows a bit more of their relationship, though._

_Maybe, MAYBE in the future I will think about writing more chapters that fill some gaps in between. The story spans over so many years I could have displayed many more scenes. If any of you have ideas, feel free to post requests. But I do have to admit I am currently a little relieved to be done. This has taken up a lot of my time and mental capacity. All these months I was extremely preoccupied thinking about the story... So I am definitely going to take a break from writing._

_At my Nice Guest: It was always a pleasure reading your comments! Thanks again! (Btw, I HAD considered pulling a David Shore, which will ring through in this chapter. Luckily, I'm not as screwed up.)_

_At vado: Oh cool, thanks for catching that, I have to admit that posting the last chapter at the 8 year anniversary end of the series was a total coincidence. (And thanks also for your very kind feedback. Sorry to hear your father died when you were way too young.)_

_What I did pay attention to is todays date, actually. 9 years ago today, Moving On aired on TV – I guess the date of the Season 7 finale was more important to me than the series finale (I have to admit I only watched a little bit of Season 8). So yes, anniversaries matter to me, and now on this site it will forever say: Story last updated on May 23__rd__. _

_Humor me and let me know what your favorite chapter was?! I'd really love to know!_

_And now have fun with the last bit!_

**Epilogue: Another New Year**

He stands on their front porch, leaning against the wooden rail, staring up at the stars. The air around him is cold, and he has his hands buried deep in the pockets of his winter coat. His cane hangs beside him.

He muses about the invariance of the speed of light, which ensures time invariance, about the origin of consciousness, and how the human experience of time seems to persistently contradict the fact that time passes at a constant pace.

There are moments in his life in which his trust that his own mind is anchored in reality fails him. Having dealt with so many fabrications and hallucinations in his drug-addled past leave him flailing occasionally, especially when he finds himself in a state of utter bliss. And the way she looked at him across the dinner table tonight…

A red sparkling light of fire illuminating the night sky followed by a dull sound of an explosion startles him and pulls him out of his reverie. It is New Years Eve, nearing midnight, and obviously some bored firecracker affine maniacs failed to hold their horses. Cuddy had felt like celebrating, so they invited a small but respectable partying crowd of people over. Most of them have a stronger bond with her than with him, and right now he misses Wilson.

His thoughts had started crowding him, so he snuck outside.

Genuinely, he is happy. But experience has taught him to cautiousness when his life appears too good to be true. Sometimes he is afraid that he is dreaming it all. That he is truly on a heroin trip and will wake up in his apartment, utterly alone and completely abandoned by everyone he has ever loved. Or that he actually did try to kill himself and ended up in a coma, which he will come out of in the hospital one day, finding nobody waiting by his bedside.

Suddenly, the front door opens. He doesn't have to turn his head to know who is standing in the doorway. She is the one person in the world who will always seek him out.

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

The corners of his mouth twitch up, which she cannot see because he still has his back to her.

"Did you need a break from all the yapping?" she asks softly. She takes a few steps towards him, but stops slightly behind and to the right of him.

He gazes up at the night sky again. "I was thinking of Wilson. What he'd say if he showed up here now." He chews on the inside of his bottom lip. "Sometimes it still catches up with me. My doubt. And I find it hard to believe that this is my life. I never thought I would get a shot at this again. To have a family. With two amazing kids; a beautiful wife." He pulls his left hand from his pocket to look at his wedding band. "And the best part is: They don't hate my guts." A small smiles plays on his lips when he finally turns to her. He is shocked to find her standing there in nothing but her spaghetti-strap dress, her bare arms wrapped around her torso to shield her from the cold. "Jesus, woman," he chides and immediately starts to undo the buttons of his coat. "You get too much thrill out of living on the brink."

She smiles vaguely. Obviously the heat she still carried from inside has kept her warm long enough not to be rattling by now.

He reaches out to her and draws her against him. The combination of her tiny frame and his slightly oversized coat allow him to redo most of the buttons behind her back, engulfing them both in the warm material.

She wraps her arms around his waist and buries her nose in his sweater, inhaling deeply. Her cheek rubs against his chest. "Wilson would tell you how happy he is for you."

Wanting to feel her through fewer layers of clothing, House removes his arms from the sleeves so that they are also under the coat, the sleeves dangling loosely at both sides. He presses one warm hand against the bare skin between her shoulder blades; the other rests on her lower back, pulling her close. He leans his butt against the rail for support, shifting most of his weight onto his left leg.

"And he'd boast a little about his genius," Cuddy continues. "Of having managed to protect you even from beyond the grave."

House thinks for a moment and nods. "Yeah."

They stand there for a while silently, reveling in each other's body heat.

"You still think I'm beautiful?" she asks eventually.

He pulls his head back so he can look down at her with a frown. "Are you kidding me?" She holds his gaze without blinking. She means it. "You're the hottest chick in there," he nods towards the front door. "If you weren't married to me already I'd be inside commenting on your ass all night, hoping to score." He lets his hand travel from her lower back to her butt and gives it a firm squeeze.

She smiles a little but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm old."

He is slightly confused by her statement and makes his 'duh'-face. "I'm old_er_." Then it dawns on him, and he cannot suppress a smirk. "You're worried about the big 6-0 coming up." Him and the kids are already planning on throwing her a surprise party—he wants to make up to her for having objected to a big wedding celebration.

She drops her gaze and draws in her lower lip.

"Trust me, you'll live," he teases. He moves his hand from her shoulder blade to the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her pulse. "I personally guarantee I'll get you through the night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Actually, maybe you'd want to replace the yoga with some cardio workout until then." A shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

This time her smile is accompanied with a sparkle in her eyes, and her hands travel underneath his dress shirt. "I love you," she states warmly. "Do I tell you that enough?"

He tilts his head and squints at her. "Is this a twisted way of letting me know you'd like to hear it more often?" he questions, because she certainly gives voice to her feelings more frequently than him.

"No. It's a sincere inquiry." Her tone is gentle. "You standing out here wondering your worth… I just want to make sure I am in no way adding to that."

"You're not," he assures her. "I'm a swan now, remember?" He cranes his neck, sticking his nose high into the air.

She chuckles. "You always were," she mumbles, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his exposed throat. "You just didn't know it." She suckles gently on his flesh, which sends shivers up and down his spine.

He lets his hands roam over her back. "Quickie on the front porch?" he suggests cockily.

She pulls back and wipes the saliva on his neck away with her thumb. "I'm gonna head back inside, fulfill my duties as hostess." A smile plays on her lips. "Wouldn't want to endanger your testicles to frostbite damage."

He smirks. "Too attached, aren't we?"

She ignores his comment. "Be back in time to find the most beautiful woman in there and kiss her at midnight?!"

He squints his eyes at her, feigning astonishment. "You'd be cool with that?"

She shrugs and counters dryly: "I was gonna go for the caterer. Nice rear." Her eyes sparkle with challenge.

"You're all mine," he growls—smiling—as he bends down to kiss her.


End file.
